Wondering
by Phantomrose96
Summary: A continuation to Cordria's starshot #69 "Wondering". Danny's been captured and tortured by his parents, but he refuses to say a word until his psychiatrist starts connecting the dots. Can he risk keeping it a secret any longer?
1. Wondering PR

This first chapter is Cordria's oneshot "Wondering". **I do not own this part of the story. **The continuation starts from chapter 2 (also I switch it to first person, since it was easier that way.) Thanks to Cordria for letting admiring fans continue her amazing oneshots; if you haven't read any, go read them!

(Edit Jan 2012) This chapter is pretty tame, although the next 24 chapters of the story contain scenes of** gore, rotting,** **death **and **graphic torture—both physical and mental. **Upon request I'm warning you that, depending on how sensitive you are to written torture scenes, some of the story may strike you as _very _disturbing. Reader discretion is definitely advised!

If you're fine with all of that, please enjoy!

...

He slunk a little lower in his seat, waiting for the moment when this latest torture would be over. Ever since he parents had 'figured him out' a few weeks ago, it had been test after test, torture after torture, _hours_ upon _days_ of talking...

The only bright point in his day was when his parents got distracted by something ghostly and left him to his own devices for awhile. Then he was free to get out of this house and haunt the town with his friends. Even though his parents wanted him to bring his phone with him when he left so they could get in contact with him, he conveniently forgot it each time. That gave him maximum 'friend' time.

Unfortunately, it didn't happen very often.

"Danny, sit up please."

Danny shivered at the soft, motherly voice before sighing, but he straightened slightly in the uncomfortable chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the secretary at the desk smile understandingly at him. Her name - which he thought was appropriate for her red hair and her green dress - was Subrosa, 'call me Rose', and she was the only person in the room that seemed to have any sympathies towards him what-so-ever. The stuff-shirt psychologist sure didn't have any.

"Mom," he whispered, risking the fact that he was about to sound like a whining five-year-old, "how much longer do we have to sit here?"

She smiled at him, the smile not quite reaching her eyes anymore. He knew, deep down in his stomach, that she hated these visits more than he did. An hour of someone questioning every single thing you had ever done was more than most people could take without breaking down into tears. But like clockwork on every Tuesday and Friday, she would dress herself up and drag him here. "Until he's ready for us."

"Mom..." He let out his breath, his protest dying on his lips at the dead look in her eyes. Complaining just made this visit worse for both of them. After a second, he just turned away and crossed his arms. Both of them were survivors, they would make it through this no matter what... but he didn't have it in him to make it harder on her.

"You can make these stop, you know," she said softly, her voice kind of brittle. "I know you hate coming here."

He didn't look at her, instead focusing his eyes on the floor as he tried to ignore the shudder that went through his body when she spoke. Not looking at her was the easiest thing to do. "We both hate coming here," he muttered darkly.

"It's for your own good. After everything that's happened..." She trailed off.

He struggled not to glance over at her to see if she was crying again. Coming to the psychologist never failed to get her in tears at least once. It made it all the worse to know that her heart was in the right place and that she was trying her _hardest_ to do the right thing. She was trying to get him help.

He could only imagine how much she was breaking on the inside every time she looked at him, figuring that how he was acting and what he was doing was all her fault. Her's and his father's.

Their lives were shattering because they knew they had done something horribly wrong.

They just didn't know what. "Danny," she said after a long moment, her voice breaking on his name, "why can't you just _talk_ to us? Tell us what's wrong?"

Danny shifted in his chair, his eyes burning as he struggled to suppress the thoughts that were boiling in his head and rolling around in his stomach. Even just a month ago, he never would have put them through this. He made a promise years ago that his secret was not worth anything near this. He'd tell them before anything really dangerous happened, he'd tell them before they get hurt, he'd tell them before _he_ got hurt.

But then everything had changed.

He clamped his lips shut, refusing to look over at his mother, and just silently shook his head. He couldn't tell them, not anymore. The truth would hurt far more than these stabbing lies.

"Mrs. Fenton," a deep voice called, and Danny closed his eyes, a shudder going through his body. Another hour of torture was about to commence. "Can I talk to you alone for a few minutes?"

Danny felt his mother get off the chair next to him and heard the door click softly shut behind them. For a split second, his mind flew into panic mode as he wondered if the psychologist had somehow figured out his secret and was going to tell her. But then he calmed down. There was no way that he could know.

He did, though, wonder what Mr. Auricular was telling her behind that door. The latest plan to get him to 'talk'? To get him to tell them... anything?

Why, oh _why_, did they have to figure out that something was wrong with him? Why did they have to suddenly start wondering where he was running off to and who he was hanging out with? Why did they have to start caring?

He supposed it was partly his fault. It had been how he had been acting for the past month, after... _it_ had happened. Exactly thirty-four days and six hours previously, the worst had finally gotten him.

His parents had captured him.

He really had been going to tell them who he was as soon as it became obvious that they were going to seriously hurt him. He tried... oh, how he had tried. But as he had attempted to speak, tried to get out the words, they had blasted him with something that had scrambled his thoughts. His words had come out as gibberish, his desperate attempts to turn human slipping through his fingers.

When the pain started as they began to dissect him, his thoughts hadn't even been coherent enough to allow him to scream. Hours after it had started, his parents had gotten a call and had vanished. The fear and the inarticulate rage in Tucker's eyes as he had set his friend free a few minutes later had almost been worse than his parents torturing him. The terror that had been in Sam's eyes when he had shown up at her house had definitely been worse.

Over a month later, his ghost form was still riddled with scars, oozing wounds, and holes from his parent's experiments. He could only count his blessings that they hadn't transferred to his human form as well. But even though his physical scars hadn't come through... the mental ones had.

Despite their oblivious fixation on the supernatural, his parents had noticed that he didn't talk to them any more. They had picked up on the fact that their son's smiles were forced and fake. They noticed that he refused to be anywhere near them.

They definitely noticed that he absolutely refused to go into the lab anymore. Every time they mentioned it - after he instinctively winced away from the sound of their voices - pure fear and panic had welled up inside of him. He was positive that they had figured out that the reason he turned pure white and practically ran away from them had something to do with the lab.

They just didn't know what.

The tests had, at first, been simple. A trip to the doctor's to see if he was alright physically. A few tests from a counselor to make sure he was fine mentally. A long chat with Mr. Lancer.

Then, as more people had gotten worried, the tests had grown. A few trips to a specialist in a nearby city. A five-day stay at a hospital two states away. Long and complicated tests.

Twice-a-week visits to a psychologist that specialized in teens that suffer from 'post traumatic stress disorder'.

His parents, he knew deep down, were doing the 'right' thing. They knew something was wrong with their child and they wanted to help.

He _could_ just tell them what the problem was. He could just stop this torture that they were all going through. But he easily remembered the look on Sam's and Tucker's faces when they found out. He remembered Jazz's panic-filled reaction. He remembered the disgust and horror in Vlad's eyes when he had learned of what happened, along with his sincere attempts since then to be nicer to him. He even remembered the reactions of the ghosts when they found out. Their varied offers to 'destroy' his parents for him had been touching... in a strange way.

No. There was no way they could ever know.

Even this torture was better than what would happen if they found out.

"Daniel," the booming voice of the psychologist rang through the office.

He looked up, watching in surprise as his mother practically raced towards the door with tears streaming down her cheeks. "Mom?" he asked, jumping to his feet and glancing back at the psychologist in confusion.

The tall man walked over and placed his hand on Danny's shoulder. "She's not ever going to hurt you again. I'll make sure of that."

Danny's eyes widened. "What?" Had he really figured it out?

"Come with me." Mr. Auricular placed a hand on Danny's shoulder and steered him towards his office. "We've figured out that it's your parents that have done something to you. But now you need to tell me exactly what."

Danny dropped into the soft chair in the psychologist's office and stared glaze-eyed at the door. "What?"

(**Edit A/N**: Each chapter has been formatted to end in either **PS** or **PR** for past and present respectively. The story toggles between the events happening directly after Danny's capture and dissection ["the past", which was about a month prior to the time setting of this chapter] and the events happening "in the present" that start here in Mr. Auricular's office.)


	2. Autopsy of the Living PR l PS

Warning: dark, angsty, and perhaps a bit disturbing, as most of this chapter is Danny's flashback to what happened the day he was captured. The following contains first person torture scenes that may not be suitable for certain people. It's also a bit "Lab Rat" inspired, which is an amazing DP fic by Anneriawings.

Enjoy!

…

My mouth hung open slightly, momentarily lost for words and the doctor took the seat across from me. He met my gaze with a patient look, waiting for me to talk.

"Wh—What could possibly make you think that?" Words finally choked their way out of my mouth. I wanted to sound appalled, insulted even at such a bold accusation. But my voice cracked midway through the sentence, straining the last few words. The upward infliction of my question came out like a terrified squeak.

His gaze changed; he wasn't "looking" at me anymore, no, his eyes were _boring_ into mine, trying to read my face, like he could read the answers straight off me if he looked hard enough. My heart dropped a little as I realized how terrible I must look; really I must be a spectacle to see. The nightmares had kept me awake nearly every night, the lack of sleep etching obvious bags under my eyes. I'd stopped eating properly. Being as skinny as I already was, the gauntness to my face couldn't go unnoticed. On top of my neglected appearance, I'd become jumpy and reserved around the doctor, refusing to open my mouth most sessions to speak. I couldn't play the "I'm fine" card any longer.

"But I—My mom, she's…" I stared out the tinted window, catching a glimpse of her distorted hazmat suit. Two hands, their outlined blurred through the glass, covered her face, sobs wracking her body.

"She won't hurt you anymore, Daniel. You can trust me."

"She's NOT hurting me!" _Liar_

"Then please tell me what's happened. We can get this all cleared up if you'll just cooperate."

"Not until you apologize to her!" I practically leapt from my seat, jabbing a finger toward the opaque glass. _This was wrong. She _had_ been hurting me, but she didn't…she didn't _know_._

A sort of panic seized me. If my parents were found guilty of child abuse, I was certain Jazz and I would be shipped away, probably to foster homes. With little doubt I'd land my parents in jail if they were convicted as child abusers. They could rot there for years clinging to the knowledge they were innocent. I couldn't do that to them, or to Jazz, even if the two parties weren't really in the same boat in the matter.

Jazz hadn't spoken to my parents once since the incident. Aside from the screaming lecture she'd given them that day about the coldhearted evil of torturing and dissecting a live, conscious, and sentient being, she hadn't so much as said hello. Talking her out of it hadn't worked; despite any attempt I'd made, she refused to let this drop. She claimed to be compensating for the anger I refused to show. The young and stubborn psychologist in my sister stuck to her theory that I was bottling up all my frustration. She offered to let it drop some if I talked. But I couldn't bring myself to say a word, to her or to my parents. Perhaps I had been bottling up my feelings since the incident, but pretending nothing had happened was far easier than dealing with the reality of it, and having two clueless parents made doing so a much simpler task. However my parents, clueless as they were, refused to let my issues drop. They dwelled on my misery far more than Jazz's. They _knew_ what was bothering her and stuck to the hope that they could make her "see reason" in time. (That's at least how they explained it to me, which made it much more difficult to turn the conversation to Jazz's problems when they tried cornering me over mine.) Bottom line, they figured she'd get over it on her own, and she wasn't keeping any secrets from them (none that they suspected at least). But I was supposedly at Sam's house that whole day; nothing tied my trauma to the same incident, or even the same day. They had no explanation for why I winced at the sound of their voices, or why the color drained from my face at the mention of the lab.

"Pl-please, bring her back in here." I was almost begging. Deep down I wasn't sure if I wanted her here, heck I sure didn't want _myself_ to be here. The feelings I harbored for my parents had been nothing but a jumbled mess since the incident, far more easily ignored than dealt with. But I needed to do something, anything to fix this.

Dr. Auricular raised an eyebrow, contemplating if it was advisable to bring my supposed torturer in here. "Will you tell me what happened if I let her back in?"

"Yes." _Why am I agreeing?_

"Alright." He stood and grabbed the doorknob. "…Your father too?"

"Y-yes…please." _This can't go well_.

"Very well, stay here for a few minutes. I'll be right back." The door clicked behind him.

_This is bad. This is bad. _My stomach twisted uncomfortably; I was definitely starting to feel sick.

I couldn't tell them.

…..

The sunset. I guess that's what I remember best before any of it happened, the way the reds, oranges, and pinks swirled on the horizon. They looked so warm and inviting; it was almost funny how stark a contrast they made with the frigid temperatures. In January the sun set early and temperatures fell fast, well below freezing at that point, even if it was only around five. Not that the weather had bothered me; in ghost form the cold was never a problem. It must have been my own fault in a way: how far I let my guard drop, how I completely spaced out, watching the sunset, enjoying the tingle of ghostly energy crackling through my body. The moment had been so beautiful, so perfect, so peaceful, my mind didn't register the whirring of ectoplasmic weaponry until it was too late. The first zap brought me to my senses. A sharp yelp tore from my throat, breaking the near silence. I felt as though my whole body was being torn apart; electricity arced across my chest, my whole body seizing in the agony. The pain faded in seconds, but I had lost all control over myself. My limbs refused to budge, giving half-hearted twitches as I focused every ounce of my panic-soaked mind on fleeing. My paralyzed form started to slip, nearly falling from the Op center roof. However my foot caught on one of the antenna, leaving me completely immobilized and completely defenseless. The tranquilizer dart hit next, a vague piercing sensation in my left leg. Through the haze and fear that had suddenly gripped my body, I heard a triumphant _woot_ break through the air.

"…_Think you got him, Maddie!"_

"_Great shot…Fenton Scrambler works? …Grab him."_

"…_Ghost boy, Mads!...Incredible."_

No matter how hard I concentrate, I can never recall being dragged from the roof. The next sensation I remember is the biting cold of the lab table sinking through my hazmat suit; or more than that, the sensation of being restrained, guarded, and terrifyingly trapped.

I yanked at the leather straps pinning my arms and legs in place. I paused for a moment, taking in the faintly glowing aura that coated my hands. Why? Why was something about that off? The realization hit me suddenly that, somehow, I'd remained in ghost form. _That's impossible. I should have transformed back!_ But a nagging feeling in my mind told me that wasn't necessarily true. It had happened once before when Valerie captured me, after knocking me out with one of Vlad's ecto-claws. I woke up as Phantom what could have been hours later. The way Jazz theorized it, my transformation needed a sort of energy of activation, like a chemical reaction. Ectoplasmic power was needed to fuel the change, meaning attacks that locked away my ectoplasmic energy could, in theory, trap me in a useless ghost form. A reverse Plasmius Maximus, in essence, but still just as crippling.

_It doesn't matter. Just rip off the restraints and get out of here. _But, no amount of desperate struggling yielded any result; phasing was suddenly impossible. _No ectoplasmic energy, right…_ It took a few moments before I registered the two figures intently watching my every move. One reached slowly for a device in his hands, pressing down on the large red button in the middle. Electricity ripped through every fiber of my body; all control over my struggling fled, my muscles seizing in the all too familiar torment. Screaming wasn't an option, as the onslaught left me with barely enough control to breathe. Even when the electricity faded, my body hung uselessly; my breathing was shallow and labored, like trying to fill my lungs while submerged in a swimming pool (an experience I was more than familiar with, thanks to Dash. Not that his immature bullying could even hold a candle to this.)

"You like it, ghost? I call it the Fenton Scrambler. It rips ghosts apart atom by atom!...Well actually it never quite did that, but Maddie and I modified it to disrupt the flow of ectoplasm through a spook's entire body! You won't be able to so much as move a muscle!" My dad's voice rang in my ears, the enthusiasm almost sickening. He eyed my chest suspiciously, honing in on the slight rise and fall of my ribcage. "Well you shouldn't anyway…No matter. And I wouldn't suggest trying to escape again."

My limbs still hung uselessly, but my diaphragm, an all too _human_ part of my spectral body, slowly came back under my control. Enough at least to choke out a few words.

"What do you…want with me?" I panted.

"Simple." A slight, blue-coated finger jabbed into my face. "We want to find out what makes you tick, you evil ectoplasmic manifestation of post-human consciousness. As scientists, we have the equipment here to find out."

Despite the pain it caused, my eyes flickered around the lab, taking in the array of sharp and jagged tools, all coated in a glowing sheen of green ooze that I'm sure would prevent any attempts I made at phasing through them. Panic was rising through my body. Every cell of my being screamed at me to run, but my body hung there helplessly, only slight twitches shooting through my arms and legs.

I swallowed loudly, biting back the nausea growing in my stomach. "Please…what are you going to do to me?"

"Oh just some tests. Analyze some tissue samples, ectoplasm too. You're a pretty unique ghost, you know? In behavior and structure. Science would benefit greatly from taking you apart." Dad sounded as though he were musing to himself by the end of his sentence. Faintly I heard him mutter something about a solid bone structure, but his back was to me, focusing on a table of equipment. He had begun polishing some instrument on the rack, his build blocking my view.

Breath froze in my chest for a moment, until I could choke out my panicked thoughts. "Wha-? You can't- You can't do this! It's me, Danny!"

"We're well aware what your name is." My mother, who had wandered off to gather a few tools, reappeared in my vision, finger back in my face. "Now lie there, stop talking, drop the act, and this will be over as soon as possible."

_No no no! This was wrong. I needed to prove it, to show them. _"It's…it's _Danny!_ Please! Just let me show you—I…" But the warm, dense feeling usually nestled in my core had vanished. No—Not so much vanished, as was locked away, well beyond my reach.

"Why won't it…? Why won't-!" Frightened tears welled in my eyes. "Why are you doing this to me? Please Mo—"

But my protests were cut short mid sentence. Another zap from my dad's device tore through my body. The world scrambled around me, leaving just pained streaks zigzagging across my mind.

"…_be asking the questions now, Phantom!"_

My dad's words were lost on me, though. A new, all too terrifying realization hit me.

My breathing had stopped dead.

The second shock to my body froze every muscle. My diaphragm, already struggling from the first zap, had fallen into complete paralysis. Panic soaked every ounce of my body, my lungs slowly searing from the deprivation. _Focus. Focus!_ But the hold over my body was long gone. Despite any of my desperate attempts, my chest refused to rise. I was literally drowning where I lay. My parents, busy readying their tools, were completely oblivious to my silent plight. The miasma of fear slowly started to ebb as the lab faded, my oxygen-deprived brain giving out. _Died drowning on a lab table, ha…_ Black nothingness closed around my vision, the tunnel of light shrinking to a near pin prick. My body lay on the verge of surrender, blacking out into the sweet darkness that encroached on my vision. Somewhere through the haze, I felt the slightest twinge of control return to the core of my body. All my concentration went to that single point. _Breathe, damn it!_ A pained gasp ripped from my mouth, relief flooding my mind. The rest of the world was dead to me as I focused solely on sucking in asthmatic, ragged breaths one after the other.

"_Is he _breathing,_ Jack?"_

"…_Think he is"_

"…_Lungs?"_

"_Possibly…should get a sample."_

A silver glint swam in front of my returning vision. The blue hand attached slowly turned the glinting silver, inspecting it. Somewhere I felt tugging at my jumpsuit, around the chest I was pretty sure. The Scrambler did nothing to interfere with feel and sensation, but the lack of control was disorienting. The jumpsuit, yeah definitely at my chest, began tearing away. _Tearing? _The gears in my brain started turning again, eyes suddenly able to focus on the glinting silver hanging over my body. The reality of my situation hit full-force when the object came sharply into focus.

_No…_

The scalpel lowered to my ribcage, one delicate blue arm guiding it.

_Oh dear god no!_

_Say something! _The tears were welling in my eyes. _Say something NOW damn it! _But words wouldn't come, my ragged breathing no where near strong enough to form words, or even sounds.

_Oh no no no nonononono! _My mind was whimpering, curling in on itself like a defenseless animal. Pain was coming, I could feel it, and nothing I could do would stop it.

_Change back! Show them now before it's too late! _Tears spilled out of the corner of my eyes. _Please! _But the warm, dense energy hung out of reach. I couldn't find a way to grasp it, no matter how hard I searched.

My thoughts, tainted with delirium, resurfaced with an old memory. I remembered a Discovery Channel documentary I had watched with Jazz during a snow storm. Sam and Tucker were snowed in and my sister insisted I try to learn something with my day off. I guess I decided to humor her, as I had little else to do, and watched the program. The characters had been goofy and there was plenty more gunpowder than actual science, but the concept had been interesting enough to keep my attention. The point of the show was apparently to test urban legends, and for the episode I watched, the cast was investigating Chinese water torture. You know, when you're strapped to a chair with a stream of water steadily dripping on your head until you go insane? It hadn't been the dripping water, though, that drove the cast over the edge. Instead they found it had been the restraints and complete lack of power that truly made it torture. Having any sense of control ripped out from under you, even over dripping water, was what made people lose their minds.

It clicked in my head why that memory came up. This was Chinese water torture so far, my complete lack of power nearly driving me insane. The scalpel, the lab, they were bad enough, but the knowledge that I was completely restrained, unable to move any part of my spectral body, with no option but to sit back and take it, threw my mind into an entirely new kind of delirium. And I knew it was about to get far, far worse. Coherent thoughts were gone. My mind surrendered to the panic. I _was_ panic.

The first incision brought the slightest bit of sense back to my mind. The scalpel pierced my chest dead center, just below my ribcage. The blue hand dragged it down, ripping a tear to about my stomach. Sickly, too-warm ectoplasm spilled out onto my skin, hardly noticeable over the searing agony that consumed my torso, consumed me. I wanted to scream, to writhe, to beg for mercy. However the Fenton Scrambler's effects bound me where I lay, leaving me in a sickly bastardization of Chinese water torture.

The hand continued the incision from the top, raking two oozing cuts across my upper chest, one going to my right shoulder blade, the other to my left. She pulled back, admiring her work on the "Y" shaped cut. _It's a freaking autopsy incision. _I thought, cold sense returning with the burning pain. _Well, you _are_ dead, aren't you?_

The control over my breathing returned to normal, but the shock reduced me to sucking in gasping, shuddering breaths, verging on hyperventilation.

"Well look at that, he _is_ breathing Maddie!"

"I see that…But it doesn't make any sense." Mom sounded skeptical. In my mind I saw her narrowing her eyebrows, lips puckered in frustration. "And his ectoplasm too…Why is it tainted red?"

"Remnants of his physical life, perhaps? We should get some samples."

"Right…" A few moments of silence stretched across the room until…"Ghost!"

I wrenched my eyes open, surprised at the sudden address. I could feel the pain and fear etched deep into my eyes, their presence evident by the way my mom withdrew.

"Tell us, why are you still breathing? And the puppy-dog look won't work on us."

I took a few more shuddering breaths, willing myself to speak. But no sound escaped my lips. My body was still recovering from the second zap. _Please stop. It's me! It's Danny! I'm your son, your goddamn son! You can't do this PLEASE!_

"Mads, I think the Scrambler is still in effect."

_And you're my parents._

"You're probably right. We should just get on with the dissection."

_My goddamn parents…_

I shut my eyes again, focusing on the in and out of my ragged breathing. If I could find a way to show them, this would end. _Just concentrate! _But almost immediately my focus was ripped from my grasp. How badly I wanted to scream through the first real bout of excruciating pain that tore across my body, literally _ripping_ apart my chest. Somewhere through the agony, I felt the flesh around the incision being torn backwards. My ears tuned to the frightfully sickening sound of my flesh peeling back. The torment repeated on my other side, throwing my senses into over load. _Dear Lord kill me now! Nothing is worth this! End it now PLEASE! _I knew my voice was back as the first agonized screams ripped from my throat, bouncing off the walls into a demented cacophony of anguish. Some kind of probe was jabbed deep inside my chest, imparting a sense of sickening wrongness as it twisted around inside. The slightest sense of control gripped my limbs, as I twisted them weakly against the restraints. Voices broke through the walls of my own personal hell.

"_Screaming…Neighbors hear?"_

"_Could…Fenton Scrambler?"_

"_Not with the probe."_

"…_idea…"_

One bulky hand formed a tight seal over my mouth. The other, I saw as I wrenched my eyes open, held a long strip of linen cloth. The seal was released for a fraction of a second, my screams ripping back through the air until the linen was shoved roughly into my mouth. The ends were tied behind my head, muffling my cries almost as effectively as Dad's hand.

"…_drop the act soon."_

"…_almost soundproof anyway…"_

I shuddered in Dr. Auricular's seat, tears pricking the corners of my eyes at the most hellish part of my memory…Well, at least until they brought out the chainsaw.

Time lost all meaning during my torture. Every second was an eternity, my existence dissolving into pure, concentrated agony. Nothing was worth it. Nothing was worth living through that. I couldn't say how long it was before my parents brought out the saw. My terrified muffled screams tearing through the cloth covered up the chainsaw's whirring. Not until the blade had been pressed against my collarbone did I realize what was happening. The acrid smell of burning _bone_ assaulted my senses, until my screams started cracking, rising to pitches that were almost beyond human hearing. At least I imagine they were; I hope they were; it gives my mind the slightest excuse for my parents' behavior, for the reason they ignored my screams for hours on end.

My spilt ectoplasm coated every inch of the examination table, dripping onto the floor and splattering my parents' suits. Unknown hours had passed since the start, and my mind only had enough room left for one thought: _Kill me. _

Suddenly, the tearing through my body stopped as the first ray of hope broke through my hell.

"_Mr. and Mrs. Fenton? Are you down there? I'm sorry it's late, but Danny won't answer his phone and I was wondering if he—" _The words had been lost on me, my mind well past the point of comprehension. But I unmistakably registered the sound of Tucker's voice. Somewhere through it all, the Fenton Scrambler's effects must have lost their complete hold, as I was able to tip my head toward the stairs. Tucker's outline swam in to view through my tearstained eyes. He stood at the top of the stairs, looking down with his mouth gaping open.

"Oh Tucker!" My father stepped away from the table, pulling down his surgical mask. "I called Jazz earlier when Danny didn't come home. He's staying at Sam's tonight." My father glanced over his shoulder, eyes locking with mine. "Oh, sorry about this mess. As you can see Mads and I are in the middle of an experiment. We probably won't be done for a few hours if you needed anything from us."

Tucker stood frozen for a moment, his face masked in the shadows to everyone but me (in ghost form I had exceptionally good night-vision.) Horror coated every inch of his face, muscles twitching in disbelief.

"Help me." I tried to mouth, the gag blocking out any hope I had of relaying the message. _Calm down and talk! _I tried forcing control over myself, quieting my screams enough to speak, but the only hope I had was already retreating up the stairs.

"No…Mr. Fenton…That's fine…I'll go." In seconds he had disappeared. But my eyes stayed locked on the spot. _He was gone. My last hope, gone. _I shut my eyes again, accepting my fate, mainly because I didn't possess the energy to dwell on Tucker's betrayal. Moments later, a high-pitched ringing resounded through the open lab door.

"Phone, dear." My mom acknowledged.

"I'll get it." Dad sounded disappointed more than anything, being interrupted twice so soon.

His foot steps retreated from the lab, a muffled _Hello? _sounding from the living room.

"Now then…" My mother's voice trailed off, sifting through the different sized scalpels lying on the table. _Focus and talk! Focus and talk! You have to save yourself now._

However I was saved the effort as my dad's booming voice echoed down the stairs. "MADS! The phone's for you too! Something about an urgent parent-teacher conference!"

My mom's expression soured, glaring down at me as I struggled to hold back my screams. "Stay here." _Yeah, like I have a choice._

She shut the door gently behind her, but a few seconds later it was wrenched violently open. Tucker reappeared, bounding down the stairs two at a time. He gripped his cell phone in his hands, muttering into it. His words became clearer as he came closer, slightly marred by a kind of gruff accent.

"Yes, Mrs. Fenton, Danny forgot his homework three times last week. I understand this is impromptu, but I would like you to come to my office and discuss it with me…Yes right now, I'm only here for another half an hour, so I'd like to see you immediately, your husband too. Room 318." With a _click_ Tucker shut his phone, tossing it on the ground. He knelt beside me, ripping away the restraints and the gag in my mouth. Defenseless and half-dead (well, more so than I already was), I nearly missed the look on Tucker's face as he wrenched open the last restraint. His expression had changed from the horror it showed minutes ago; now it was set in a mask of near murderous rage.

"Those inhuman bastards," he snarled under his breath, hands shaking in rage as he worked to gently lift me from the table. "I swear Danny if I could, I'd—"

But his seething was cut short by a pained yelp that issued from my throat. The slightest attempt he made at moving me sent torrents of pain running up and down my body.

"D-Danny, listen to me." His voice had essentially transformed, the rage replaced with a childlike twinge of fear. "Can you change back? We need to get you out of here now." He locked eyes with me, visibly flinching at the torture etched deep into my gaze, tormented into an unfocused sort of stupor.

Fighting against the receding effects of the Fenton Scrambler, I shook my head.

"T-try! Please, before your ghost form dies here."

_Try? _It took every ounce of control and focus I possessed to not writhe and scream in agony. How was I supposed to focus on anything else? _Just try, Phantom! _Maybe Tucker was right. The fact that I could move again meant the Scrambler was losing its grip. Its ability to lock away the hold I had on my ectoplasm must be slipping then too. If I could gather just enough at my core, as I'd been unconsciously doing for months on end, I could reach the humanity nestled deep in me.

_Breathe_

…Nothing

_Focus, it's there! It has to be!_

Slowly, the tingling energy gathered around my center. Wisps of power hung within grasp, and I snatched at every tendril I could sense. It was far less and far weaker than I'd ever felt it before, but as soon as I felt it I refused to let it go. Carefully guiding it, I was able to swat at the human energy cloud that had hung so elusively out of reach. The gap now bridged with the gathered ectoplasmic energy, I grasped the human core as if my life depended on it (and I'm rather certain it did). Happiness verging on delirium surged through my body as two rings split around my middle, sweeping across my decimated spectral body. Warmth returned to my limbs, banishing the pain as my uninjured human side took over. The torture and torment, the sudden release from my blinding pain, and the excursion of every last speck of energy I had left was suddenly too much. I passed out where I lay.

"_Dude?...Dude! Oh God no please wake up!"_

Tucker slapped one hand firmly across my face, bringing me dizzily to my senses. I cracked an eye open, watching relief flood Tucker's face.

"Come on, we have to get out of here before your parents get back." He lifted me from the table, forcing me to bite back a wave of nausea as I caught a glimpse of my own ectoplasm, tainted a slight red, covering the entire examination table. My own clothes were coated in the sickly substance, my mind growing foggy again from the panicked memories it dragged back into focus.

"Now, Danny!"

With one shaky hand wrapped around Tucker's shoulder, I pulled myself from the lab table, vowing to never set foot here again. The rest of the night passed in a haze. The sun had long since set when we made it outside, leaving us to hobble three-legged-race style down the street, I imagined to Sam's house, in complete darkness. It could have been hours before we actually got there. The only sense of time I had was one fleeting glimpse at the clock when Tucker sent a one-handed text to Sam enroute. It had been 11:23 then.

Sam answered the door in near tears when we arrived, demanding to know what happened as soon as I set foot in the house. I knew from the mesh of terror, disbelief, and pity that covered her face as I choked out a choppy rendition of what happened, that this would never just go away.

I sat in Dr. Auricular's chair, staring out the door window as a bulky orange figure entered into the building, a lithe blue one wrapped in its arm. I froze to the spot, clinging desperately to that deliriously happy sensation I had of first sweeping back into human form, taking deep steady breaths as my nails dug into my palm. A single thought broke through my meditative phase: _I can't do this._


	3. Truth PR

I actually wrote this chapter first after reading Cordria's oneshot. Except for the first few lines in chapter 2, this was finished beforehand. Enjoy! Reviewers are loved!

Warning for mentions of torture.

...

The room felt far more cramped with my dad in here. He took up two of the open chairs by himself. He was still wearing his orange day-glow hazmat suit, but the usually comical getup was soured by the worry on his face. Two thick streams of mascara ran down my mom's cheeks. She had calmed down, but a dry sob still wracked her body from time to time. We were positioned in kind of a triangle, Dr. Auricular in one corner, my parents in the next, and me in the last. All three had their eyes trained on me. I almost winced at the hurt radiating from my parents', throwing me gazes that silently begged for answers. Dr, Auricular's, however, merely looked observant, like he was trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle. I chose to look in his direction instead, though I still threw involuntarily glances toward my parents between words.

"I…I uh…" My hand flew absentmindedly to the back of my head, scratching near the nape of my neck. "The thing is…" _Damn, I can't do this._ My gaze fell to the floor, and I resorted to twisting my fingers around each other. Some part of me hoped if I stalled long enough they'd lose interest, but I knew that was impossible. But there was no way I could talk about it, _describe_ it.

"The thing is…you don't _want _to know." I kept my gaze trained to the floor.

"Of course we do sweetheart." My mother's words were long, drawn out, and full of reassurance. "Whatever is troubling you we want to make better. We don't care what you might have done, you'll never be any less important to us. You can get through whatever is troubling you if you let us in, Danny." I couldn't deny the unmasked desire to help that shone in my mom's eyes. Concern and worry had long been etched onto her face; she could never let it drop now, not since I seemed to finally be opening up.

"It's not what…_I've_ done…that you might not forgive."

"Who then?" Dad had placed his two wide hands on Mom's shoulders, the worry in his eyes mirroring hers.

"You might not forgive…be able to forgive your…selves." My voice had grown so quiet I wasn't sure they'd heard the end of my sentence. Judging by their lack of response, I guess they hadn't. Still…they had to know. Otherwise, Jazz and I could be bounced from foster home to foster home for the rest of our childhood while my parents were tried as child abusers. _They still might be_, _you know._ some unhelpful part of my mind offered, but I pushed the thought to the back of my mind.

"Do you…remember what you were doing 34 days ago?" _Stupid question._

My parents exchanged glances, eyebrows arched in concern.

"January 6th," I blurted out. "Saturday."

My father paused for a moment, the gears turning in his head. But he kept his response slow and measured, clearly attempting to not scare me off. "That was the day we caught the ghost boy, wasn't it, Mads?"

My mother nodded her agreement.

"And what did you…do…with the ghost boy?"

My parents glanced at each other again, confusion eating into their worried expressions. _I wasn't there. They think I'm stalling again._

"We just ran some tests sweetie," my mom this time, "but if something happened to you at Sam's, what does the ghost boy-?"

"_Some tests?" _I felt the bite of malice in my own voice.

But my tone was lost on them, and they answered for clarification. "Simple tests, Sweetheart. Analyzing ectoplasm, tissue, some marrow. The kind of tests we always run."

Despite doing all I could to suppress the panic and fear that had been welling in my chest since the start of our session, her comment caught me off guard. A tinge of anger bubbled through me. _How could she put it so casually?_

"By 'tests' do you mean strapping him to the lab table and slicing open his chest?" _Stay calm. _"How about gagging him when he got his enough of his sense back to scream? Does that constitute a "test"? _Chill, this will only make it worse when they find out. _But the frustration and pain that had been long suppressed were surfacing with a vengeance, some part of me deep down wanted revenge for what I'd gone through. The "unhelpful" bit of my mind resurfaced, pointing out that Jazz may have been right.

"Tissue sawed from his chest, his lungs, his liver," I had started tallying them on my fingers, mentally running through every burning pain that wracked my body in ghost form, "rib bone, shoulder blade, collar bone," tears were welling behind my eyes. I could hear my voice choking up, "and the…the _suffocation _your Fenton Scrambler caused! Did you hesitate even once during all of that! Consider…Consider the _pain_ and _panic_ he might have gone through! He was begging you for mercy and you didn't even falter!"

The silence rested heavily on the room; tears ran down my cheeks, my breathing calming a bit after the outburst.

"D-Danny…Were you…were you in the lab when we were doing all this? Is that why you've been like this? Because you saw us…?"

I would have laughed given any other situation. Instead I covered my face with my hands, tilting them toward the ceiling. "Dear God how I _wish_…" But I was relatively certain my words were too muffled to make out.

"Danny." I lowered my hands to face my father. A hint of a smile played at his features. "You should have talked to us sooner." He shook his head slightly, the corners of his mouth tugging higher. "See, ghosts don't _feel._ They're extremely good manipulators though. They make a game out of tricking humans. They'll get your sympathy and then run off laughing when you let 'em go! Phantom was never in pain. It was an act." Dad was nearly chuckling by the end of his sentence. He looked so calm, so relieved, so _proud_ that he could finally resolve this matter.

Boiling rage seared through my system. "An _act?"_

My mom was almost smiling as well, like the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders. "Danny, to a normal person a ghost may look like it's in pain, but experienced ghosthunters, your father and I for example, know better. I see now why you were so scared of the lab and…of us even." She stood up from her seat and took a step in my direction. "If you'd told us from the start we could have cleared this silliness up."

I rose from my seat too, glaring both my parents down. Somewhere in the very back of my mind I saw the opportunity to let it drop here. I could shrug my shoulders and admit I must have been mistaken. But the floodgates were open; there was no going back from here.

_Silliness? _

Anger bubbled through every molecule in my body."And how the hell…would you know that?"

The expressions on my mom's and dad's faces mirrored each other. Their eyes flashed condescending pity, like they were trying in vain to comfort a little child who'd claimed he'd found the boogie man hiding under his bed.

"Tests, Son. We have the data to back it up. Pain is just a remembered aspect of the ghost's human life, all feelings are. You shouldn't let his screams haunt you like that."

Something deep inside of me snapped.

"HIS SCREAMS? _HIS _SCREAMS?" I jabbed my right thumb square in the center of my chest, my four fingers curled into a fist. "_MY SCREAMS!"_

Neither of my parents said anything. Their mouths just hung open slightly, confusion etched over their features. Even the doctor showed the first traces of shock I'd seen. A fresh stream of tears raced down my cheeks. I didn't bother to wipe them away.

"Danny, what are you-?" My mom reached her hand out, but I stepped backward, maintaining the same distance.

"You…" I breathed. My head started to shake back and forth, my gaze never leaving the two hazmatted figures. "You didn't even stop…to consider…" I finally raised a scar-free, wiping at the wetness dripping down my face with my palm. "…Never got the chance to prove."

Silence stretched between us. Dr. Auricular had long since stopped writing. A thought formed in the back of my mind, one I didn't acknowledge or register. I just acted on it. And slowly, without trying, without even meaning to, I reached deep inside myself for the icy cloud of energy floating around my spectral core. Two pure white rings formed around my midsection, encircling my body as I stood at the exact epicenter. From the corner of my eye I caught a hazy reflection of myself in the door window. My parents who stood beside the window stared in a frozen trance as I witnessed myself transform. The two rings split, one sweeping up my body, one sweeping down. My raven hair turned stark white, my blue eyes a radioactive green, and I felt the tingling energy of the transformation start to ebb as my whole body adopted a ghostly-white glow. My gaze was wrenched back to the two shaking figures near the door, their faces a blank canvas of unmasked horror. Some part of me reveled in the malicious satisfaction it brought me, but an increasingly larger part told me this was wrong. I couldn't dwell on my parents or on my feelings for long; crippling pain I knew to expect slammed full-force into my chest. One glowing hand flew instinctively around my midsection, a choked scream tearing from my throat as I doubled over on the floor, using my free hand to support myself. I spent so little time recently as Phantom that the wounds were given almost no chance to heal themselves, and my parents' chemically-coated equipment had done more than its job impairing whatever little healing could have taken place. With a wound as huge and ragged as an autopsy incision, the pain that crippled my body was nearly as intense as the first few days after it happened. The agony brought some sense back to my hate-soaked mind and the rage started to slowly seep away. However, I got one last jab of satisfaction before the malice faded entirely. Pushing myself from the floor, wrapping the other hand around my chest as well, I met my parents' terrified looks head on.

"You can add this to your data, _Dad_. Ghosts—halfghosts—_do_ feel pain. Any of it. _ALL _of it. Down to every last incision." Fresh tears spilled over my eyes for the third time since the start of our session. Whether they were from the physical pain or the mental, I wasn't sure. "Or who knows? Maybe I'm just a great manipulator." A surge of undampened agony ripped through my chest. With a sharp, pained intake of breath, I doubled back over, shutting my eyes while still clutching tightly at my midsection. Through the searing discomfort, I heard the _thud_ of a limp heavy object hitting the floor. The first pang of guilt shook my being as I realized what must have happened.

Mom fainted.


	4. Regrets PR l PS

I want to thank everyone who reviewed/favorited/story alerted this fanfic! It made my whole week watching my inbox fill up with all the encouraging feedback. You all inspired me to get started on chapter 4 ASAP (Chapters 2 and 3 I'd been working on haphazardly for a few weeks). But you all really inspired me to get chapter 4 done so quickly. Originally I had planned to work on it once I got all my homework done, but when I logged on today, I saw I had reviews from BOTH Anneriawings and Ecokitty, who are like, DP celebrities! Anneriawings was really my inspiration for doing this and I've wasted more hours of my life than I care to admit on Ecokitty's deviantart account. They're both amazing, and I knew homework would have to take a backseat so I could get this done. Sorry, bio report!

After the italics, the story picks up where chapter two's flashback left off.

...

_Two rings split around me, releasing me from the torment that gripped my body. Yet, suddenly it felt like nothing was real. It_couldn't _be real. If it were, how was I supposed to face my parents again? A quick scan of the room told me I was dead wrong though. The doctor, his name escaping me for the moment, had dropped his clip board and pen. His mouth hung open in a stupid gape, a muscle twitching beneath his eye. At some point he stood up, backing up slowly against the wall. The first noise to reach my ears sounded muffled, drowned, like the speaker was deep under water._

"_Maddie!" My dad dropped to his knees, leaning over Mom, looking like he was verging on unconsciousness himselfl._

_This is wrong. My mind offered no explanation or reasoning for this, refusing to even acknowledge what had happened. It simply repeated itself. Over and over._

_This is wrong._

_I couldn't think. I couldn't concentrate. My thoughts merely wandered back to the day this all started, trying to pinpoint where exactly everything went wrong._

…

I'm not quite sure what happened since I got here. My mind had been wiped clean from the moment Tucker and I stumbled through Sam's door, guided only by the emergency flashlight in her hand. I remember fleeting bits of conversation, something about not waking her parents, some kind of argument where Sam insisted I take her bed for the night, and somewhere in between I choked out a short, choppy rendition of what happened (only the sort of details my mind could communicate while set to autopilot.) Yet the terrified look on Sam's face through it all burned brightly in my mind, even now in the pitch darkness. Clearly I lost the argument about taking a guest room bed (I knew of at least eight) as I found myself lying in on Sam's comforter, staring blankly at the glowing digital clock on her night table. 2:13 AM and counting.

I've been lying here for the last 132 minutes. The relentless insomnia reduced me to counting every flicker of the neon-green clock. I hated the color; I was more than sick of having my vision consumed by that sickly green glow. But I didn't dare to look away; shutting my eyes replaced the dark room with gruesome images I never wanted to re-see. So why couldn't I stop reliving it all? Sleep was out of the option. It wouldn't come. I knew it wouldn't.

"Danny…?" Sam's voice cut softly through the darkness, careful not to wake Tucker, curled up asleep on the floor. Blankets rustled from the couch in the corner of the room as Sam shifted into a sitting position. "I know you're awake, Danny…"

Silence rested heavily between us. A few moments passed by over what seemed like an eternity.

"…You want to talk about it?" I almost felt sorry for her, the way her voice sounded so scared, so hurt, so _lost_. But I drew out the silence between us. "…Okay then…" The blankets rustled again as she lay back down.

"What is there to talk about?" I started at the sound of my own voice. I'd already resolved to not drag her down with me. I knew from the moment I been freed that I never wanted to mention a word of this. But somehow, the thoughts that were eating away at me broke through my mental barrier. "I mean…what more do you want me to say?"

"I don't know." The blankets shuffled again. "You didn't really tell me much when you first got here. I'm just…I'm here to listen if you need me, Danny. We'll help you through this."

I sighed heavily, twisting over to face the wall, our conversation dropped again…

"I…I have to face them tomorrow, don't I? _Go home_with them. How am I-? What can I even say to them? 'Hey sorry I didn't call you about staying at Sam's house I was too busy being dissected alive to get to my phone?'" Even in the pitch black I could sense Sam flinching at my words. I didn't want to upset her over this, or anyone else for that matter. "It's like…the more I wish this would just go away, the realer it gets. Nothing will make it leave. And all I can do is sit here replaying everything in my head over and over, trying to figure out where it all went wrong…"

Silence met me from the other end of the room, but I knew Sam was listening.

"Maybe I just should have told them from the start. From the second I got my powers I should have been straight forward with them. None of this would have happened if I had! Or I just keep thinking it's my fault for being so stupid! I mean, what kind of idiot am I? I was practically napping on the Op center roof _in ghost form!_ Like…like I was asking for this to happen!"

"No, Danny." The sternness in her voice caught me a bit off guard. Tucker shifted positions a bit on the rug, mumbling in his sleep. "I won't let you blame yourself for this. What happened isn't your fault. I promise you that…that…" Her voice trailed for a moment, silence blanketing the room again. Sam sighed, defeat evident in her voice. "Please, Danny, just tell me what happened. I want to be here for support. Let me _help_ you."

"**And what the hell do you think you can change about this**?" The words ripped from my throat before I could stop them. Guilt settled immediately in my stomach as she shrunk back.

"I…I'm sorry, Sam…" I muttered, my words muffled through my hands. "I'm just…confused is all…confused and angry…and really, really scared. There's no way I can do this…"

I glanced at the clock. 2:19. _You know you can't dodge questions forever. Do you want to live like a coward?_The unhelpful bit of my mind broke through my thoughts. But maybe this time it was right. I was going to be here a while. There was no way I could keep quiet forever, keep her in the dark forever.

I sighed, licking my lips nervously. "…I just wanted to watch the sunset in peace I guess…"

…

At some point through the story, Sam had flipped on her bedside lamp. My eyes had been shut, head slung down as I set my mind to a semi-autopilot. The words poured from my mouth like I was just reliving it in my mind, again, for the umpteenth time this night. I wasn't aware of Sam's actions. The light was lost on me until I glanced up, opening my eyes for just a moment. Without really meaning to, I locked eyes with Sam. Suddenly, the barrier in my mind shattered. The pain and horror twisted on her far too caring features shook me violently back to reality. She sat rigidly still, up right on the couch, her eyes trained on mine. Two slight streams of mascara ran down her face, silent tears she didn't bother wiping away dripping onto the couch fabric. I winced at her look as I was forced back into the present. Until then, the story sounded so distant, repeated in my head so many times it was almost like I was describing someone else's life. But all the feelings flooded back; the misery, the torment, the pain, they were all _mine_ again. Midsentence, I faltered.

"And T-tucker was at the stairs when…" I could feel the tears in my own eyes now, unconsciously running down my cheeks. _I don't want to do this anymore._"when…" My voice choked up, and I buried my head in my hands. "I'm sorry I don't want to say anymore…"

Sam was at my side in an instant. Body half off the side of her bed, she pulled me into a tight hug. I could feel a few shuddering breaths rattle through her body as I hugged her back. For just a fleeting moment, I felt like things might be all right.

The feeling didn't last long.

"Please, Danny," she whispered through my hair, "you're almost done."

Tucker's form shifted on the floor, hands adjusting under his make-shift pillow. I stared at him for a moment, watching his somewhat unsteady breathing, his too-rigid position. There was no doubt in my mind he was awake. For how long, I wasn't sure. _At least I don't have to tell the story twice this way._

I shut my eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Slowly, I willed myself to continue…

…

Sam never went back to her couch. She kept her arms around me through the whole rest of my story. Things had changed since I was shaken back to my sense; the story had suddenly become unimaginable harder to tell, like waking from a burning nightmare to find yourself fighting a real house fire. The first shock that brought me to reality never faded, and the rest of my story came in short, shuddering breaths. All the images and sounds bore into my senses, all so heavily mine again. But I couldn't just give in. In hindsight, I'm just glad I was able to get through the actual dissection while on autopilot.

We lay there wrapped in each other's arms when I finally finished. Sam didn't speak, only letting a few sobs wrack her body from time to time. But I preferred that she didn't speak; really there was nothing she could say. I just needed the time to think.

I'd fallen into a sort of unfocused stupor for the last few hours, sleep far out of my grasp. The clock read 6:42 before I was jerked frightfully back to my senses. A booming, feminine, and murderously angry voice ripped through the closed door, originating somewhere down the expansive hall.

"SAMANTHA. JANE. MANSON! YOU GET OUT HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT!"

Sam glanced at me, worry etched into her face. But I shook my head, motioning her to go.

"Coming, Mom!" Sam answered in an all too cheery voice. She shot me an apologetic look as she bounded out into the hall, shutting the door behind her.

"Your father and I just received a call from the _Fentons_ wondering when they should come to pick Danny up! Young lady, did you sneak that _boy_ into our household without informing us?"

Sam made a sound like she was inhaling through her teeth. "Oh…yeah. You see, Danny and Tucker were over studying yesterday for this _really_ big history test we have on Monday. I guess we lost track of time and when we were done, it was so late that we were afraid a ghost might try to attack us if I walked them home! You know how many ghost attacks there've been lately. So I offered to let them stay here for the night. I'm so sorry I didn't tell you, but I really didn't want to wake you." She sounded way too overly cheery, especially for dealing with her parents and for…well…being Sam. But her mom didn't seem to mind. Mrs. Manson merely sighed, her high-heeled footsteps receding down the hall.

"Just let me tell them to pick up that child _immediately._And Samantha, you are not to leave this house until your father and I decide on a proper punishment."

"Er…that's not necessary!"

"Don't talk back! I knew he was a bad inf—"

"No, no, I mean his sister Jazz is on her way to pick him up."

Mrs. Manson gave another huff and stalked off downstairs.

Sam reentered the room, leaning on the door as it shut behind her, a hint of a smile playing at her lips. She looked in my direction, answering before I could get the words out of my mouth. "Don't apologize, Danny, I'm in trouble with them all the time."

I bit back the "I'm sorry" on the tip of my tongue, glancing instead toward the window. "So…I guess we have to call Jazz now, huh?"

The same guilty look crossed my two friends' faces, the second still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "See, Danny," Sam answered, "Jazz is already on her way."

"You called her?"

"Danny, we're not the only people who get worried when you don't come home at night." Sam offered gently. "When you first got here…you were sort of out of it. _Really_out of it. Tucker called her while I was trying to convince you to take my bed. He told her you'd be staying the night here. She's supposed to come get you as soon as your parents realize you're still gone…We were hoping that might give you a few more hours here; your parents aren't usually this observant you know…"

"So you told her…?"

"No." I raised an eyebrow at Tucker's response. I turned away from the window to face him. _No?_ "We figured we'd leave that up to you."

"Wonderful…" I sighed, burying my head back in my hands. Somewhere deep inside I just wanted it all to end. The coherence over my thoughts was already slipping away. There was no way I could tell the story again, not to Jazz, not to anyone really.

My sense of time still hadn't returned; without the clock I would never have known how long had passed before Jazz came bounding up the stairs (hardly five minutes later). The door swung open and my rather frazzled-looking sister appeared at the entrance.

"Danny!" Relief flooded across her face as she pulled me into a tight hug, words tumbling out of her mouth almost too fast to understand. "I was so worried about you, Danny! Dad called me saying you never came home and you wouldn't answer your phone when I called and Sam and Tucker wouldn't tell me anything and when I finally got back Mom and Dad were muttering about some escaped ghost experiment they'd captured and when I saw the lab I thought…I thought…" She pulled back, drinking in my slightly disheveled, yet uninjured appearance. "I'm just glad you're alright."

A few tears slipped out of her eyes as the silence grew between us, no one daring to speak. I dropped my gaze to the floor, unable to look her in the eyes any longer.

My palms suddenly seemed far more interesting than they ought to; I followed the creases that ran across their surface,, doing whatever it took to avoid looking at my sister. I couldn't help it though, for just a moment I glanced up, watching her smile falter. "Just…what exactly happened?"

Silence.

"Danny?" Worry started to crease her brow, a hint of panic tingeing her voice.

Nothing.

"You…you are alright…aren't you?"

I sighed, pulling her hand off me as I shrunk back against the bed frame, wrapping both arms protectively around my chest. I still refused to meet her gaze.

Panic had definitely begun to mar her words. "Danny, _what happened?"_

Sam opened her mouth to speak, but I held my palm to her, swallowing back the anxiety building in my body. _I don't want to say it again._

"Jazz, they…they got me."

My sister arched one eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean? Who got you?"

But the stress and sleep deprivation were taking their toll. I couldn't focus. I couldn't do this anymore. Steadily I trailed off, rambling to myself. "Should have run when I had the chance…But nope, they got me…strapped me to the table before I woke up…they wouldn't listen…really I tried to tell them…they wouldn't listen…never would have listened anyway…I couldn't stop them really…started ripping me open, ripping me apart." I let my head fall, resting on a collar bone far frailer than it used to be. My eyes shut, fingers pressed against my temple as they rocked back and forth in time with my steadily shaking head. "I yelled…they don't listen…cut out everything…ectoplasm everywhere…3, 4 hours before Tucker saved me…maybe 3."

Jazz grabbed me by the arms, trying to steady me. "Who, Danny?" Sickening comprehension blossomed on her face as I met her gaze. She knew. I didn't want to say it.

"M-…Mom…and Dad. They got me Jazz. I couldn't stop them."

Jazz dropped my arms, back pedaling a few steps. Her lips moved, the sound that escaped far too quiet to really make out. Reading her lips, I was rather certain her muttered words were along the lines of "Dear God no…"

I'm not sure what compelled me to do it then. Perhaps I needed to be sure it _had_ happened, that it was real, that it was not part of some sickening dream. Perhaps it was because all reason slipped through my mind then. For whatever the reason, two rings split right then around my midsection. They swept across me, erasing my human body as its ghostly image took its place. For whatever reason, I did it.

Dear god how I wish I didn't.


	5. Damage of the Dissection PS

Phantomrose96 the walking zombie is back with another update! It's a short chapter, I know, and I'm sorry, but I wanted to get this online before I nod off right here. Homework took a lot longer than I anticipated last night (which wasn't helped by the fact that I spent quite a bit of time on Ecokitty's deviantart page. She has some awesome stuff there, trust me.) and it was well past 11 before I finished. However, I was running on a kind of high from reading all of the **amazingly** kind reviews I've been getting. I just have to say, **YOU'RE ALL INCREDIBLE**! I didn't get to bed until 2:30 last night (and 1:30 the night before) because I wanted to get as much of chapter 5 done as possible, which meant I only got about 4 hours of sleep, but I was floating around school all day in a giddy stupor because all of you who've read, reviewed, or favorited this story have made my life so much better. I wish I could use the cliche about having an awful week that all your reviews turned around, but I was having a pretty good week to start.

You guys just made it legendary. Now let me post this before I fall asleep on my keyboard. Reviewers have my eternal gratitude!

…

I was on fire.

I had to be.

Nothing else could explain the searing, tearing, all-consuming agony that ripped my body apart at that moment. Somewhere in the distance I heard my own choked, crying sobs resonating in my head. Yet in a way I could hardly sense them; they were distant, lost, as I was consumed in the sea of my own torment. Some unconscious reflex brought my arm around my chest, clutching tightly as my body wrapped around it. I doubled over the bedspread, sickly, blood tainted ectoplasm spilling onto the unblemished bat comforter. Even through the glove, I could tell my suit was still torn open. My hand made direct contact with flayed, oozing skin, and, I was rather certain, _bone_. The feeling struck a nerve in some distant, unreal part of my mind. I knew something about it wasn't right. Usually my suit repaired itself, and my ghost form was a rather fast healer too. Yet somehow, the torture that destroyed me where I lay was far _worse_ than it had been in the lab.

Oh, the wonder of toxic medical equipment.

Screams other than my own broke through my mental barrier. They were begging me to change back, the voices so filled with unrequited terror that they were hard to ignore.

_End it now!_

For the second time since it all began, the sheer pain that wracked my body brought me down to earth, flooding my mind with cold, hard logic. The tired delirium that coated my thoughts had been completely obliterated. Cold, calculating power ran through my system, the adrenaline fueled "hero-time" that so often took control as Phantom kicking in. The instinctual part of my brain, separate from conscious thought and well trained in hopping the line between life and death, overrode all other thoughts. It latched onto my human core, yanking it back to the surface.

I never saw the rings; I never felt the transformation, but I knew I had to be human again once the pain vanished. My eyes stayed shut, my body doubled over on the bed, sweating, shivering, and trembling like I'd never felt it before.

Shuddering breaths tore from my throat, one shaky hand pushing me into a sitting position. For the first time I dared to look up, not wanting to know what kind of sight would meet me. I winced as I locked eyes with the three people in the world I knew I'd never want to hurt. The pain and panic marring each of their faces made me flinch. _Great. How much torture do you plan on putting them through? _But I only managed a quick, fleeting glance at each, before they were suddenly blocked from view.

Sam was the first to my side, pulling me into a deathly tight hug as she struggled to suppress her trembling sobs. I raised one hand to wrap around her, but I faltered as my eyes took in the sickly green-red residue that coated it. A slight trail of it ran down my wrist, staining the dull gray fabric of an old sweatshirt Sam had leant me. I forced my mind past it though; I had to see what my transformation had done to Jazz. The one fleeting lock wouldn't cut it; I needed to know how badly I'd hurt her. My gaze traveled past Sam's messy, raven hair, looking for the reaction of the only person clueless to the situation.

Cautiously, I pulled myself from Sam's grip, eyes roaming until they locked onto Jazz.

And a large part of me wished they hadn't.

Her two delicate hands were clamped tightly over her mouth. The eyes that met mine, usually so calm, caring, and a tad bit smug, had become terrifyingly wide, pupils trembling as thick tears dripped from the corners. Her knees, in fact her entire body, were trembling nearly as badly as mine. Suddenly she dropped to the floor, her legs giving out as she buried her head buried her hands.

"Oh _God_ Danny, they…they…" Anguish choked her words, straining her voice until it was just above a whisper. "Your chest, Danny…I never…I didn't know or I would have…"

She shrugged off a reassuring hand from Tucker, pushing herself from the floor. She worked her way to the bed, setting herself down on the opposite side from Sam. Two trembling hands worked their way around me. "I'm so sorry, Danny." Control over her voice started to return, her body calming until just a few shuddering gasps gave away her distress. "I could have been there, Danny. It's…it's my fault for leaving you alone with them. I didn't even _like_ the college I was visiting. If I'd just stayed home…"

I pushed my weight off my untainted hand, raising it to wrap around my sister. "'S okay, Jazz. This didn't happen because of you. If anyone I'm to blame…It's not like I can expect you to be my body guard all day…"

Jazz pushed herself back, meeting my gaze with one far calmer than it had been a moment ago. The irrational fear that marred her look had vanished, an expression I can only explain as "protective big sister mode" took over. Her eyes were still scared and hurt, but more than anything they radiated a kind of love and desire to help. Deep down I knew it was a look only my therapist-in-training sister could manage. "I…I'm sorry, little brother. Don't worry, I won't let Mom and Dad off the hook about this." The infliction in her voice gave away the fear behind her attempted joke, but the effort seemed to lighten the mood just a bit. A moment passed before she leaned in, kissing me lightly on the forehead.

My first instinct was to pull away; as her little brother I knew social protocol demanded I be disgusted. But somehow, I felt this was one of those times I'd be allowed to just accept it, be thankful for it even. Instead I shut my eyes, letting the tingling on my forehead wash over my body, dissolving a bit of the panic that gripped my heart. I wrapped my other hand around Sam, who had pulled away a bit to give Jazz and me some room. Careful not to stain her ruffled shirt, I pulled Sam in a little tighter.

"It'll be alright, won't it?" Part of me hated how weak my words sounded.

"Of course. You're the hero of Amity Park; you'll figure something out." Sam leaned in a little closer. "You always do," she whispered gently in my ear. I couldn't tell if Jazz and Tucker heard, but I felt that her words were meant just for my ears.

I felt another hand wrap around my shoulder. I glanced up for a moment at Tucker, who'd settled down on the bed alongside Sam. He shot me a small sort of smile, nodding his head at me.

The moment just felt too perfect. I sat still, wishing that this second would last forever, which meant it never would. Moments like this never last.

"WHAT ON EARTH IS HAPPENING UP THERE?"

Heavy, clicking foot steps echoed from the hallway. I could picture the homicidal glare Mrs. Manson wore, her short, orange hair framing her face like tendrils of fire. Given different circumstances, the thought might have been funny.

"I-it's nothing, Mom!" Sam called, wiping the few remaining tears from her face.

She hopped from the bed as her mother's venomous mutterings permeated the room. I couldn't quite make it out, but I could definitely make out a few key phrases, such as "inconsiderate shouting," "waking the neighbors up," and "terrible teenage influences."

Sam paused at the door, her hand gripping the knob. She swung her head back around, locking gazes with mine, and I decided to say it before anyone else had to.

"We should get going then, huh?"

She offered me a small smile, turning back to the door. Her hand faltered though, before she dropped it from the knob entirely. She made her way back across the room to wrap me in one last hug.

"It'll be alright," she whispered.

"It always is," I whispered back.

"I know." She pulled her hands away, making her way to the door again.

"_Is that boy still here?"_

"Coming, Mom!" Sam shouted down the hallway, throwing one last smile in my direction before disappearing out the door.

"Well then…I guess we've overstayed our welcome here," I half-joked. But somehow I couldn't find the enthusiasm in my voice to make it sound like one. The pained smile I gave Jazz probably didn't help. _I must look too awful to smile anyway._

I pushed myself from the bed, slight trembles still wracking my body. Steadily I traced Sam's footprints on the carpet as I made my way to the door.

Jazz's footsteps shuffled behind mine, pausing as I gripped the doorknob. But somehow, I couldn't turn it. My mind froze me to the spot, refusing to let my body keep going, refusing to let me move forward. Deep down I knew why.

Leaving meant going home.

And I truly doubted I could deal with that


	6. Running from Reality PR

Chapter 6—back to the present. I was up to 2:30 (again) last night, due to a combination of studying, chapter 6, and various internet distractions. I was zombie-Phantomrose again during first period and a bit of second (which I had a quiz in, but zombie-me aced it anyway). I was able to take a 15-ish minute nap at my desk since I finished early, and that kept me awake the rest of the day. I've been editing chapter 6 since I got home three hours ago, but I'm happy with it now! All you reviewers and readers have made this the awesomest sleep deprived week ever! *hugs all around*

Seriously, you're the motivation that keeps me pumping out chapters this quickly.

Expect an update soon, and reviewers, as always, have my eternal gratitude.

**Warning** in this chapter for graphic gore and torture scenes as well as mental anguish.

...

Yes, coming home to face my parents had been hard. Drifting from class to class the next day, every day, trying to act like the world was just perfect had been hard. And after each six hour school day of horribly forced smiles and choked down flashbacks, coming home then to face my torturers, my own _parents_, had been borderline impossible.

And yet, I knew I'd accept that fate a million times over compared the position I found myself trapped in right now.

I dug my palms into the carpet, body tensing as I saw Mom stir from where she'd collapsed. I could only lie there watching as her eyes fluttered open, their soft pupils unfocused and distant. Everything slowed to a crawl in my mind, and I watched in slow motion as the spark returned to her eyes, quickly replaced by terrified shock that wrenched her eyelids apart. Her head swung around, ignoring the hand Dad still held over her. Terror-filled eyes locked with mine, trembling as my appearance confirmed her fears. My body still shook from the jolt of taking on my ghost form, my breathing coming in shallow ragged spurts. Mom pulled herself from the ground, backing up a few steps as heaving, shuddering gasps wracked her body. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach, palms hugging her elbows, as she fell to pieces. Dad pushed himself toward her, stumbling blindly in shock. He held one arm tentatively on her shoulder, panic and revulsion twisting on his face as he rested two terrified eyes on my shuddering form. He locked gazes with me, and I felt myself wince at the disbelief that snuffed the light usually burning so brightly in his eyes.

_This isn't happening. _I licked my lips, pushing myself to my feet. _It can't be. This isn't real. _

My back hit the wall with a soft _thud_ as I stumbled backwards. Malice and guilt twisted painfully in my stomach. Half of me wanted to shout myself hoarse. It wanted so badly to tear into my parents where they stood, kick them while they were down, and pour out every ounce of suppressed rage and agony boiling inside me. Didn't they deserve to suffer? _They _did this. It's _their _fault!

_And it's your fault too. _the guilty half snapped. A wave of self-loathing washed over me, as my conscious ripped me to shreds. You _didn't tell them. _You _spun lie after lie to keep them from knowing your secret. And _you _fell asleep on the roof of Amity Park's most renowned ghost hunters. How can you blame them for this kind of mistake when you fought tooth and nail to keep the truth from them? Who's more to blame than you are?_

The room faded from my sight, people blurring to blots of color as tears marred my vision. My mind refused to focus, reality slowly slipping from my grasp. The world dissolved around me, and I was reduced to a crumbling mess as the war raged in my mind.

_Let them know just a _fraction _of the pain you suffered. It's just punishment._

Shut up.

_Punishment for what? Falling for your deceit and then acting on the thoughts you'd drilled into their minds?_

Shut up!

I made no conscious effort as my head steadily shook back and forth, both trembling hands pressed tightly over my ears.

I wanted to leave.

I wanted this to end.

I wanted to die right here.

And still my body refused to move, my eyes distantly locked on my stark-white Dad, trembling against the wall like a child.

I couldn't face this.

_Let me leave! Please! Just let me out._

Steadily, my body bent to my will. I gathered the slight wisps of ghostly energy that swirled inside my human form. I curled them into a concentrated ball, letting them rush through my body in a burst just powerful enough to phase myself through the back wall. Since the incident, I'd become far more talented at accessing my ghost powers in human form, not that it could compare at all to the kind of power I once felt coursing through my ghost body.

The thoughts were shoved to the back of my mind; the panic eating through my body refused to let coherent thoughts sink in. Instead I ran.

Stumbling, trembling, I ran from the situation I knew I'd never want to face.

My parents knew. I was Phantom, the ghost they'd hunted, the ghost they'd _hated. _And the slightest hope I'd once held of acceptance had slipped right through my fingers. They could never see me as their son again. Now, I was either some horrible, wretched, inhuman monster in their eyes. Or I was the child they'd torn open on the lab table, alive, _conscious, _all the while begging them for mercy.

They hated me, or they despised themselves. Either way, I had no idea how to face it. Instead, I locked the thought away in the back of my mind, skidding to a halt and dropping to the sidewalk where I stood.

I'd never felt so hopelessly lost. The dissection itself had been torture like I'd never imagined, both physically and mentally. And yet, it was at least _over. _I didn't have to think; I didn't have to act once the hell had faded. But this was something else, something I had to face, and something, deep down, I knew I couldn't. My life was shattered, ripped to shreds in front of my eyes. They were my own parents, and I sincerely doubted they would ever look at me again. One way or another, they'd be forever forced to see what they'd done, or the monster I now was.

I didn't know what to do, and I had no clue what was coming next.

…

I could have been sitting there for hours, possibly days, lost to the world while the harsh January wind stung my cheeks. I didn't move. I didn't speak. Instead I sat frozen to the curb in a timeless stupor, since once again, time didn't exist. I think I could have spent an eternity there given the chance. But a voice shook me weakly to my senses, somewhere far removed from the mental confinement I'd locked myself in.

"_Hey, kid. You okay?"_

I let the silence settle back over me, shoving the intrusion from my mind.

"…_A-are you alright?...Hey Kid!"_

But it was no good; the thoughtless stupor had been torn out from under me. Reality forced its way back into my mind, leaving me helpless to deal with my own problems. I pushed myself from the roadside, shoving rudely passed the bystander who backpedalled in alarm. _I haven't suffered enough yet?_ I kept forward, eyes trained on the ground. Panic settled back in my stomach, sending shivers down my spine._ I have to find a way to deal with them._ I knew it couldn't be done. It was impossible. But alternative options were slipping through my fingers.

About 30 feet down the sidewalk, I raised my gaze, letting myself actually see things for the first time since the session. The sun was setting, casting a pinkish glow on the street sign standing in front of me. _Baltic Road. _The street wasn't far from Fentonworks.

I was about 10 blocks away,

And quickly running out of options.

…

I stood a few feet back from the front door step, feeling completely and utterly lost. Unfocused eyes traveled across the brick façade, memories assaulting my senses with fleeting, frightening images. My hands were shaking again, the kind of flashbacks I'd been suffering for an entire month had intensified with a vengeance. They closed in on my mind, blurring the line between fantasy and reality I'd worked so hard to uphold. For a few fleeting moments, I swore I felt the scalpel slicing through my skin again, one delicately gloved hand guiding it with the deftness of a professional. My head started shaking, tears pricking at my eyes as I swallowed down the lump that rose in my throat.

There was no way I could face them.

Coming home that first day to two clueless parents had been bad enough, and even then I had Jazz right by my side. This, however, was unfathomably worse. And so I stood there, utterly alone. My sister wasn't at my side to comfort me again. I didn't have Sam or Tucker for support. I didn't so much as have Vlad to help me through this._ It doesn't matter. Just go in and face them. _

But my feet were glued to the spot

_You don't exactly have a choice, Fenton._

I clung to the moment, letting a heavy sigh pass my lips before I acted on my thoughts. I forced myself forward, two unsteady legs carrying me to the permanently unlocked door. I could literally feel the anxiety ripping apart my insides as I twisted the knob. Panic tore through my stomach on spot, churning uncomfortably as I swallowed. My heart, though, tried its hardest to avoid the tearing that my stomach had succumbed to. Instead it twisted and writhed in protest, pounding loud enough to make my head throb.

Fighting through the fear, I pushed the door open. A gentle creak broke the complete silence as I placed one foot over the threshold.

I'm not sure what I expected to find, but the silence that greeted me caught me off guard. The house seemed entirely empty. Even Jazz, who was usually seated at the table with stacks of books and college applications stacked across the whole surface, was missing. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps my parents hadn't even come home, but my theory was quickly banished by low, muffled, and static-filled sound that crept quietly from the basement.

Or, in other words, the lab.

It took every ounce of self control I possessed to push myself onward. Every cell in my body screamed at me to run, but I ignored the terror that gripped me, pressing toward the one place I vowed to never again set foot in again. The sound grew louder as I crept closer, until my ears detected a shocking familiarity to the voice. _It couldn't be… _The thought jolted my body to attention. I dared to inch a few steps closer to the lab, my mouth completely dry as sweat soaked through my clothes. The sound was human, but the speaker wasn't forming words. Instead, what tore from his mouth was one long, muffled cry. The voice cracked as a soft whirring pervaded through the air, its pitch rising to bloodcurdling levels. The long note cut off in ragged gasps as the "speaker" struggled for air.

The blood ran cold in my veins; I stumbled backwards, curling in on myself like some terrified animal.

_Dear god no…_

The scalpel. The chainsaw. The glowing, jagged instruments that decorated the tables. They all swam sharply into focus.

Tool after serrated tool tore me apart on spot. The hallway faded from sight and I found myself strapped to the lab table. The tormented screams in my mind, seemingly ripping from my own throat, synchronized with the terrible accuracy to those pervading from the lab. Even though I hadn't made a sound, my own screams tore into my mind.

The screaming,

My flashbacks,

They overlapped in a way that sent spasms of sheer terror wracking through my body.

The screams that seeped from the lab were my own.

I tried to shake the terrifying images from my head, forcing my ragged breathing into a more normal rhythm. I mentally kicked myself over how weak I was acting.

_Snap out of it! You're Danny Phantom! You've fought and overcome some of the most evil spirits the ghost zone has to offer. Yet somehow you're letting yourself fall to pieces over nothing. Get a hold of yourself._

My foot was in the stairwell before I even realized I'd pushed on, my autopilot mode flickering again into nonexistence, as quickly as it took control. I froze to the spot, frightfully wide eyes scanning the lab. The room was pitch black and entirely empty save for the lone figure curled over our computer monitor. A faint, off-white desk lamp fought against of the creeping darkness, casting the trembling blue-hazmatted woman in a sickly and unnatural light. The lab itself was lost on me after a moment. I couldn't dwell on the room or even the woman curling in on herself; the images shooting across the computer screen demanded my full attention instead.

Taken from an eagle eye perspective, a slightly grainy video rolled across the monitor. Three figures were captured in the frame, the most noticeable of which, glowing under the standing autopsy light, was a frail, white-haired boy. He fought weakly against the restraints that strapped him to the table, one orange figure blocking most of him from view. A taught cloth was wrapped tightly around his mouth. Spattered green and red stains tainted its surface as it worked to muffle the bloodcurdling screams that dominated over the whirring saw. His acid green eyes were wrenched open suddenly, screams cracking through the air, his body convulsing against the restraints, as the orange man pressed down on his tightly bound subject. The friction-filled screeching of the audio betrayed his actions, his bulky form censoring the scene from the camera's view.

The blood drained from my face as the man stepped back, delicately carrying a mutilated section of bone and dropping it onto the lab tray. My eyes darted back to the restrained figure, catching the first sight of his body.

_My _body.

The terror that gripped my body froze me to the spot, eyes wide, as I absorbed the scene before me. Even from the distance of the camera, even with the details too small to make out, the angry, flayed, mutilated flesh that covered the boy's torso (no, _my _torso) flipped my stomach, forcing me to double over as a dry retch convulsed my body. For a moment though, I couldn't make myself look away. White smatterings across the image betrayed the location of bone, and a sickly green-red mixture steadily spilt onto the floor, spattering across the boy's face and the assaulters' equipment. A constant supply of the sickly fluid oozed from the open gash in his chest.

_My chest._

My attention was gratefully wrenched from the image, flickering to the woman, _no to Mom, _seated in front of the monitor_. _One horrible, strangled sob shook her already trembling body. Several more choked from her mouth, her chest heaving as her voice swelled to a cry, ripping past her lips. Her head fell to the table, arms wrapped tightly around the messy orange-brown hair as one strangled scream after another tore from her throat. Their pitch rose in echo to my tormented cries, which had fired up once more as Dad returned with the chainsaw. Her whole body rocked back and forth, arms wrapped around her head as she sat there, alone, in the dark, wailing.

My presence had gone unnoticed, and, fighting against every instinct I possessed, I worked my way down the stairs. I glanced toward the ceiling, my gaze flickering to the corner that provided the video's perspective. Hidden in the shadows, I was able to make out the box-like shape of the security camera. I made a mental note to destroy that thing first chance I got. The video too.

The recording's sounds (namely my own pain-infused screams) covered up my footsteps. I crossed the room in near silence, tearing my gaze from both the lab table in the corner and the video glaring on screen. It took only a few seconds before I found myself standing beside the computer, completely unnoticed. The video's screams threatened to drag my long-suppressed memories to the surface, but I fought against it, keeping my gaze averted, images blocked with my hand. Mom, arms still covering her eyes from the view, was lost to the world in all but sound. So I stood there, terror dissolving me on spot, completely unrecognized.

At least until I pulled the plug.

The recording flickered from the screen, dying as the glow closed in on itself. The audio cut out mid-scream, leaving me alone

in the near darkness.

with my mother.

She jolted at the sudden cut off, locking her terrified gaze with mine once her head was jerked from her arms. Thick, diluted streams of mascara ran under her puffy eyes, fresh tears still spilling over. Heaving sobs wracked her form as she pulled her hands from the table, swiveling the chair to face me, tortured disbelief etched deeply into her eyes. I flinched at the look she wore; one so haunted and full of anguish that I couldn't return her gaze with any kind of hate in my own.

Instead I met her with a measured look, lacking any real expression as my mind drew a blank as to how, honestly, I _should_ react. After a split second, I broke the silence.

"We…we need to talk."

My mom raised her hands, motioning like she wanted to wrap them around me, but her expression faltered, guilt blossoming across her features as she withdrew. Both hands fell into her lap, her gaze too. "Yeah…" she barely whispered.

…


	7. Home PR l PS

Chapter 7! Sorry about no weekend updates, though; originally I planned to work on it as much as possible these last two days, but somehow I ended up reading a lot more fanfic than writing it. (Writing this much takes a lot out of you honestly.) Not that I neglected chapter 7 though, as most of this was done yesterday. Today was just finishing it and touching up what needed to be touched up. Chapter 7 does start in the present scene, right from where chapter 6 left off. However it switches back to the past a little less than halfway through. I tried to make it obvious, but until I can find a reliable way to distinguish between "past" and "present" I'm stuck with just using an ellipsis (and those do pop up to mean "next scene" even when the timeline isn't screwed with, but that's just my inefficiency at work!)

Thank you so much for 50+ reviews! And as always, reviewers have my eternal gratitude!

...

Dad didn't take long to find.

The first scan of the lab told me that the shaking, sobbing, trembling woman who'd once been my mother had been alone. I knew from the start that the middle level had been hauntingly empty, which only left the upper floor to search. I should have been worried about the kind of state I'd find Dad in, but after what I'd just witnessed, after all that had happened today, all that had happened over the last month, my mind had gone blank. Nothing was real anymore, not the lab, not my mom, not the video tape. This was hardly still my story; instead I found myself acting as a spectator, watching everything from some far withdrawn place. I was only playing a horribly twisted videogame that no one could win.

Mom followed me up the stairs, maintaining a safe distance behind my steps. I glanced back a few times, drawing a frightened flinch from the disheveled hazmatted figure each time. It was almost funny, seeing my strong, capable, independent mother trailing behind like a lost little puppy. Instead I just shuddered at the sight, my mind threatening to seep back through the cracks that chiseled through the barrier. I wouldn't be able to handle the tumult of memories again, so instead I kept my gaze forward, drowning out everything but the path straight ahead.

My parents' door was shut, and surprisingly, when I tried to turn the knob, locked. I phased my hand through the wood instead, twisting the knob on the other side until it met with a soft _click_. My body's defensive "autopilot" mode glazed over everything, letting me just walk through the motions without feeling that any of it was real. If it had been, I know I would never have been able to accept the sight that met me on the other side of the door. I could only cringe when my eyes took in the scene before me: Dad, curled up against the wall, knees hugged to his chest, while his head rested in the sleeves of his orange jumpsuit. An untouched plate of fudge had been set on the floor beside him, completely and utterly ignored.

I swallowed hard, fighting to find my voice.

"Dad?" I whispered hoarsely.

He jerked his head to attention, pained eyes meeting mine. Part of me felt he couldn't actually see me, or accept that he was seeing me, as disbelief snuffed all light and reason from his eyes.

My dad had always been a leader, the kind of man who would charge straight in on impulse without regard for his own safety when it meant protecting others. He never cared to follow orders, to let opportunities, good and bad, just pass by, or to stay quiet when anyone else took command. Overall, Dad was always so…strong. So capable.

He was my _dad_, my powerful, goofy, assertive dad. And I suppose I just stood there gaping, hoping he'd say something, take charge like he always did. Yet I was met with silence, watching as, for the first time I could remember, he sat there silent, lost, confused, and definitely hurt. The crushing site was quickly eating away at my barrier

"We should talk." I guess this meant it was my turn to take charge. This was my problem to resolve; running away was no longer an option.

Not anymore.

I made my way to his side, swallowing back the fear that mounted in my chest, and gently offered him my hand. "…Let's go downstairs."

He met my offer with a stunned expression, one thickly gloved hand wrapping cautiously around mine as I pulled him from the floor. Mom hovered uncertainly outside the doorway with both hands curled around the frame. She drew back as I passed through the room, followed closely by just another lost puppy.

I could get used to this autopilot stuff.

The thought was jarred from my head in a second, though, when I realized we were still one person short.

_Where was Jazz?_

…

I quickly gathered through mumbled answers, half-hearted shakes of the head, and absolutely no eye-contact that Jazz, was in fact, gone. She vanished the second my parents came home, flying out the door in desperate search for where I'd gone. In my mind I suppose it made sense, the situation not hard to imagine: my parents stumbling through the door, shocked, terrified, and borderline incoherent. From the state I found them in, it shouldn't have been hard to connect the dots, especially since, on top of it all, they came home Danny-less.

A quick glance at my cell phone, conveniently "forgotten" on my bedside table, confirmed my suspicions. **12 missed calls, 7 new text messages **glowed across the screen once I flipped it open.

All from Jazz, frantic to know where I'd gone.

Guilt surged through my body at the sight. Of course she must have been searching the whole town for me. I sighed weakly as I hit the send button, phone blipping to a new screen.

**Calling: Jazz Fenton**

The phone rang only once before the connection clicked into life, my frantic sister's voice seeping through to my side.

"Danny? Is that you!"

"Yeah, it's me," I whispered softly, throwing a glance back to my parents, who still cowered by my bedroom door.

"Please, Danny, where are you? I've been searching since Mom and Dad got home but I—"

"I-it's okay, Jazz. I'm home now."

"_Home?"_

"Y-yes…with Mom and Dad." I sighed, clinging to my dream-like state. There was a problem with autopilot, I realized: no amount of effort could suppress the desperate hope that I'd just wake up from this horrible nightmare. I swallowed back the crushing hope, forcing myself to continue. "Please…just, just come home soon. I don't think I can face this alone."

Silence.

Then, "Of course. I-I'll be there as soon as possible."

The connection died again, letting the feeling of abandonment settle over me, toxic hope eating away at the edges of my sanity.

I jerked my head back around to make sure my parents hadn't left. Two synchronized flinches met me on contact, the light from the hallway framing their petrified faces. I dropped my gaze to the floor immediately, some part of my mind wondering if that would ever stop.

My eyes flickered back to the two petrified figures though as Mom started to open her mouth. She stood there gaping from a moment, so sound issuing from her throat, before shutting it quickly again. A few more times she repeated the action, fresh tears still spilling down her cheeks.

Finally, though, she found her voice. "J-Jazz…She knew, didn't she?"

I almost snorted at her question, a sarcastic "Tch" issuing from my throat instead. _Ya think? _

But I wasn't cruel enough to say it aloud.

…

_(past)_

_Had I never lived through the dissection, it's safe to say Jazz's "talk" with my parents had been the most terrifying thing I'd ever experienced_.

The drive from Sam's house to mine didn't take long. Our houses were separated by only a few blocks, meaning the drives never did.

This time though, it was entirely too short, considering what I had to face. The minutes passed in silence between us, which was perfectly fine with me; I felt I'd done enough talking lately to last a lifetime. But the fact that _Jazz_ managed to stay quiet was almost surprising.

_Well duh, who wouldn't be a bit more cautious with words after that stunt you pulled?_

Guilt twisted inside me again, remembering my reckless transformation to my ghost side. My thoughts churned painfully in my mind, memories flooding my senses that made me desperately want to curl up somewhere and die.

"Jazz?..."

She started a bit, obviously jerked from her own thoughts. The expression on her face softened considerably as she threw a glance in my direction, careful to stay focused on the road.

"Mom and Dad…What were they like when you got home? I mean…what were they…saying? Doing?"

Jazz shivered a bit, eyebrows knitted in disgust as she explained. "They were just…fine basically. When I got back they were sitting at the kitchen table grumbling over their lost "subject", just like…they were extremely disappointed that their experiment got away." Jazz paused for a moment, eyes trained on the road as she recalled details I knew I'd never want to hear. "Something just seemed…wrong to start. Most of the lights weren't on when I got home, but I…I could see dark ectoplasm stains on their suits. They always have some stupid experiment going on and I didn't…jump to any conclusions about it." She swallowed. "But when Dad got up I swore I saw red stains on the suit too…But, but his suit's usually orange anyway! I thought it could have just been water, or a wet spot, or drying ectoplasm that did it. I guess I…just made myself believe the lights were playing tricks…" Her words trailed off, strained with the pain in her voice. We sat there in silence for a moment.

Until, "Danny I'm sorry. Really, I-I should have realized right then that-"

"Stop it, Jazz," I snapped, "and don't apologize. This wasn't your fault, and listening to you cry like it is doesn't make things any easier for me."

I was surprised by the bluntness and anger in my voice, registering somewhere in my mind that the steely glare I cast in her direction was uncalled for. A pang of guilt shot through my stomach as I watched my sister recoil. But after the night I'd been through, I was getting sick of the pity.

Jazz cleared her throat softly, continuing from where she left off. "Still I wanted to be sure, to…to check the lab. At first I thought Mom and Dad didn't realize I had gone down. They were so consumed in their…moping that I'm sure they forgot I was there. They hardly said 'hi' to me in the first place, tossing ideas back and forth about how their experiment could possibly have tricked them. When I got to the lab I-the light down there, it isn't powerful and I just saw that the table…looked wet, like something was pooled on top of it and reflecting back light. It looked like…like it was glowing softly. I tried to turn on the standing light to see, but Dad was behind me before I could do it. He was at the lab entrance just looking really miffed. I didn't have any choice when he told me to get to bed, that he and Mom had to do some cleaning up in the lab. They didn't bother asking about my visit, or anything, and I just knew something was wrong and you…you were still missing…I was scared, Danny, really scared..." She trailed off for a moment, refusing to continue.

"Jazz?…"

"A-and that was when Tucker called—as soon as I got upstairs. He said you three were staying at Sam's house…that I should get you as soon as Mom and Dad realize you have to be picked up. His voice…he sounded off, but I was just relieved to know you were safe…I thought you were _safe_, Danny…"

I let the silence draw out between us again. Conversation at this point seemed impossible anyway, when the huge, glowing "Fentonworks" sign came into view.

"…You okay, Danny?"

I gulped, fighting the anxiety in my stomach.

"Never better."

…

Jazz offered to go inside first, saying she could scout out the house to see where, and what my parents were doing. I shot down her offer though; I'd have to be strong to live through this, and cowering by the doorway while my sister surveyed the house didn't quite fit the bill. When we first set foot inside the house, though, little else ran through my mind beside how badly I wished I _had._

It only took one glance at my parents to tell me I couldn't handle this.

_No. Don't let them near me..._

I was sure my heart would tear itself right from my chest as I met their gazes; their smiling, relaxed, if not a bit tired, gazes.

"Morning, Danny. Did you have fun at Sam's house?" My Mom smiled at me over her cup of coffee, a newspaper ruffling in her hands as she pulled her soft brown eyes from the text.

I met her look like a deer caught in the headlights. All thoughts in my mind grinded to a halt, as the horrifying memories that refused to leave consumed everything around me.

_The lab. The gag. The scalpel. Hours upon hours of strangled, muffled sobs as my parents literally ripped me open._

_(Please stop!)_

_The shrieking, grinding whirr of blade against bone_.

_(Make it end!)_

_The sickening peel of skin ripping from bone._

_(I want to die!) _

"Danny?..." Concern drew her question out. Even while blinded to the world, I could picture my mother's expression softening, eyebrows arched in worry.

"Oh he's just really tired," Jazz cut in from my side, placing one reassuring hand on my shoulder. It took all the control I possessed not to recoil from her touch. Instead she drew her hand back at the slight flinch that forced itself through my terror. "He was telling me in the car that none of them actually got to sleep last night, so he should probably get to bed now if he'll be awake enough for school tomorrow. Is that okay, Danny?"

"Yeah…" I choked out, fighting back against the trembling that wracked my body. I sincerely hoped no one but Jazz could see how badly I was shaking.

I forced my way over to the stairs, not daring to look at either of my parents again. As I reached the banister though, I caught Jazz's near-whisper, clearly not intended for my ears.

"Can I talk to you guys for a minute." It was hardly a question; in fact it _wasn't_ a question. It was a command, a blunt, seething command. Even though her voice was barely above a whisper, I could hear the steely bite to her words, any louder and I'm sure they would have been venomous. Knowing Jazz, my parents were not going to be let off the hook for this. She'd never reveal my secret without consulting me, I was sure, but the overly protective big sister she was couldn't sit by and watch me suffer. Deep down I didn't want this, any of this really, and I didn't want her to say a word to Mom and Dad about what they did; more than anything I wanted all that happened to simply die, but I didn't have the energy or conviction to try to talk her out of it. Instead I worked my way up the stairs, hoping to just lie in my room and drown out every bit of outside noise with my pillow.

But it didn't matter.

I heard every word anyway.

…..

My hearing had always been well above normal, only strengthened through the experience of hunting ghost and dodging ghost hunters at the same time. But right now, I knew this skill would be far more of a curse than a blessing as I grabbed the thickest pillow in my room and curled it around my head. Maybe with enough concentration, I could drown out most of the noise from downstairs.

It sort of worked at first; the words still seeped through the pillow, but my mental barrier kept me from processing every piece. "Autopilot mode", which was quickly becoming my best friend, kept me from registering the conversation.

At least until the shouting began.

A few fleeting words had made it through my mind's defense: "ghost boy" "experiments" and "capture" being just a few, but my mind didn't bother connecting any of them. It refused to attach any meaning or situation. They were just words. Sounds. But my best-friend-in-the-making was suddenly ripped out from under my feet (not that I was standing, more splayed on the floor than anything) when the muffled words rose to an unnatural roar.

"You mean…You mean you two dissected him while he was _**conscious? **_How long?...How long was he-?..." The venom dripping from her words could have taken down a charging elephant, I was certain, if push came to shove.

The realization hit me then. In truth, I never told her the details. The sight of my mutilated ghost form (the state of which I still didn't know myself) was all she had to go on. I shuddered, realizing Jazz had been working under the assumption that they sedated me. Sedation meant no struggling, and no interference with tests.

Being conscious, on the other hand, meant screaming, struggling, and unfathomable agony.

No, Jazz would never let this go, not now, not ever.

Her words died in a kind of strangled sob, tears clearly choking back the last of her question. I was left with little choice now but to listen; my mind refused to fall back into its defensive stupor.

"The Fenton Scrambler kept him from struggling, and without sedation we could get a much more accurate reading of his vitals. It's not like he was human or even capable of feeling!"

_Don't say it!_ My mind snapped, suddenly terrified Jazz would betray my secret anyway.

She never did though. Instead I sat there, terrified, as my sister's words tore through the locked door. My parents though, held their own against the assault. They clung to their defense like it was their first born child. Never wavering. Never flinching. As my sister shouted herself hoarse, tears obviously choking her words, over the inhumanly sadistic things they'd done. Somehow though, she never let the truth slip, all the while pressing that Phantom was as human as anyone else.

_Why can't this end? _My mind offered miserably, the hope that I could painlessly and quietly drop dead on spot never stronger.

Suddenly, though, I heard my sister's feet pounding against the staircase, one last venomous insult (You two are _monsters!)_ issuing from her throat before the conversation cut off entirely.

The footsteps halted outside my door, a horrible sense of dread pulsing through my body.

"…"

"…Danny?"

Silence settled over us again.

"…Can I come in?"

I refused to offer any response, clinging to the childish notion that she might lose interest if I dragged this out enough. Instead, I caught the gentle scraping of a bobby pin twisting inside the lock. She slid the door open an inch or two, waiting tentatively for some kind of response.

Stubbornly, though, I clung to the silence.

The door pushed its way open anyway, revealing my red-eyed sister, staring at me with a kind of pity I'd never seen before.

At some point during the fight I'd pulled myself onto the bed. My back was pressed defensively against the wall, one knee curled up to my chest. The other rested limply on the comforter, still pulled in like I was sitting half cross-legged. Embarrassment flushed through my cheeks as I realized how tightly I was hugging the pillow to my chest. It covered most of my face, just leaving two terrified blue eyes peeking over its surface.

_How truly pathetic I must look._

I turned my head down to the comforter, eyes tracing the subtle pattern on its spread as I loosened the grip on my pillow. My eyes never left the bedspread while Jazz made her way across the room, springs creaking under her weight when she sat down beside me.

I wouldn't face her. I wouldn't acknowledge her presence even. Maybe she'd leave. Maybe this could all disappear.

"Danny…"

The pain and sadness that marred her voice. I didn't want to hear it, but creeping dread washed through my body as I knew what was coming next.

_Don't say it. Please, not again. Don't say it again._

"Danny…" She paused, one tentative hand wrapping around my shoulder before she pulled me into a tight hug. "…I'm sorry."

_Why?...Why was she saying it again? _My mind had no answer though, as two long-suppressed streams of tears spilled down my cheeks instead.


	8. Isolation PS

Chapter 8! I'm sorry for the delay-my English project ate up most of my free time this week, so uh...sorry. But I'll keep this short, and promise 9 should be online much sooner than it took me to upload chapter 8!

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and even just read the story. It's a huge confidence boost to see people writing such nice things!

Reviewers have my eternal gratitude!

Slight warning for angst.

….

My English essay wasn't done.

_38_

I hadn't touched the math packet.

_39, 40_

Definitely hadn't bothered to read the chapter in history

_41, 42, 43…no wait, was that 44?_

My breath fogged up the window, misty crystals condensing on the frigid glass. I sighed in defeat, the damp precipitate swelling as a few more cars whizzed by. I'd lost count, which meant it was time to start over.

Again.

_1, 2…_

I fought my hardest to ignore the tired, worn-down reflection that met me through the window pane. Instead I counted the number of cars we passed, focusing all my attention (well as much as possible) on those strangers as far-removed from the situation as possible. The ice crystals creeping along the window made that near impossible though, reflecting the dark bags under my eyes, the blank tortured stare that met the window. The warm, if not a bit musty air cycling through the bus usually kept the glass from frosting, but the heater was broken, again, in January. I caught fleeting bits of conversation from a few dreary-eyed teens muttering over the chill. Something about cruel and unusual punishment for a Monday. But the cold never bothered me.

It just had an unpleasant habit of forcing back memories as to _why_.

I rubbed my hands together, more for show than anything. Not that anyone was watching, and I certainly wasn't fooling myself. Partially I did it in response to the icy chill that flushed down my spine, forcing my hair to stand on end as I gave an honest shudder. I wasn't shivering, though. Instead the broken heater just provided an excuse to let this morning's conversation wash through me, forcing wave after wave of regret to wrack my body.

…

I wish I could say the doorbell ringing at 6:10 woke me up.

I wish I could say when Jazz pushed my door open a few minute later, Sam and Tucker in tote, they found me sleeping in the same borrowed clothes I was wearing the day before.

But that'd be a lie. Saying any of that would imply I'd gotten to sleep.

Which had been nothing short of impossible.

Instead I'd spent the longest day of my life sitting on my bed, knees hugged to my chest, fighting desperately to hold my world together.

Alone.

Like no one else gave a damn.

In truth it was my own fault. I'd forced Jazz from my room a few minutes after she let herself in, literally feeling sick from the pity. But once the door had clicked behind her I knew I'd come to regret it, as I hugged the pillow back around my chest, staring into the empty bedroom.

What must have been hours passed in complete silence. I hardly moved; I hardly breathed, wasting away the time ripping my mind apart in search of that feelingless stupor. But the pleasant, nothingness that had cloaked me that first night at Sam's was gone. It literally vanished.

Instead I sat there, clinging to my pillow like it was my last tie to sanity, while I felt the anxiety eating through me from the inside out.

_How clever, a metaphor symbolizing the way Mom and Dad tore you apart-from the inside out. Lancer would be proud._

"Shut up…" I muttered to the biting thoughts, my words distorted through the pillow.

_And this room, so empty and so crushingly alone. It's even locked, the way you're shutting everyone else out. _

_(Just stop…) _

Eternity passed while I tried to uphold my guard, fighting against the tumult of memories that attacked from every corner of my mind. They struck without warning, without reason. And each time I fought my hardest to push them away, closing in on myself as I tried, and failed, to cement a barrier around my mind. But I was weak, exhausted, and horribly sleep deprived. My poor mind stood no chance against the horrible assaults, crumbling like paper mache as I felt the biting sting of each attack. They always varied, their messages wavering from one to another, yet each attack was as crippling as the last. Some cut into my parents, damning them like monsters, like they were demons, while uncensored images of gore and bloody ectoplasm clouded my vision. But as the day wore on, most of the thoughts turned against me. Time and time again they ripped into _me_; I was an idiot for being on the roof. I deserved what I got for never telling them who I really was. Every second of writhing agony had been undoubtedly justified, the actual reasons fading until all I had was the feeling I was meant to suffer. The attacks stopped blaming my parents entirely, focusing solely on the fact that I deserved nothing short of torment.

I'm not sure how long it was before I knew they were right.

Tears silently leaked down my cheeks, coming in stronger waves each time as the voices grew more feral.

_You're not a hero. You never actually save anyone; instead you just rip apart the town in your petty little attempts to be special._

_(I thought I was doing the right thing…)_

_Every ghost attack nowadays is just meant to goad you into fighting. They attack Aminty Park because it's fun watching _you_ squirm. Innocent people just get caught in the midst of your issues. Without you, ghosts would have lost interest months ago. People would have been safe if not for you._

_(But I never meant to…)_

_And now you think people should pity you for getting what you deserved? You're a _ghost. _You're meant to be _evil. _Why would your parents possibly consider that you could be their son? You never said a word. Never gave them any proof or reason. This was your fault._

_(…I know…)_

The thoughts ripped my mind apart like confetti, shredding everything I thought I was until nothing made sense anymore. And no one was here to bother picking up the pieces. Isolation sliced through me, a rusty knife, forcing me to hug myself tighter as the pillow suffocated under my grasp.

…

Night was definitely the worst. Everything was coated under a layer of permanent darkness, choking and squirming in the creeping shadows. I truly understood now how terrifyingly _long_ the night is. Certain nights when you go to sleep exhausted and worn down, it seems like it's passed in almost an instant. But for the permanently awake, it's nothing short of hell, living through the night alone. Part of me begged my body to move, to throw itself into Jazz's room and wriggle under the comforters next to her. But I didn't; I couldn't; some mix of fear and pride glued me to the spot, staring down the clock,

While I waited for the shadows to eat me alive.

I never had a trouble imagining it could happen, as the shapes in the darkness slithered and crept when you focused hard enough. My room was different tonight, deadly tonight, all of its private comforts ripped from under me. It was dark—creeping and twisting across everything—in a way so sickeningly close to the lab. In the darkness, my bedside table could have been host to the plethora of tainted, jagged equipment, the bite of which I knew all too well.

My room became cold and barren, the chill biting through my clothing like the stainless steel examination table.

Flashbacks were stronger. The screams were more terrifying.

And I was trapped here,

Knowing there would be no salvation before sun up.

Even through the miasma of terror, I could feel how parched I was, my tongue grating like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth; I was starving; I was unfathomably tired. Yet I found I couldn't drink, or eat, or rest. I was nothing anymore. And nothingness didn't deserve to be comfortable.

The whole night, alone, literally destroyed everything I was.

…

Counting the seconds of my torture, the sun finally started tinting the sky a faint hue of pink. The horizon just glowed slightly while the rest of the sky remained blanketed in the pitch black.

The doorbell rung just as the first slivers of yellow touched the sky, jarring me from the cage in my mind that bound me to the spot. I caught the slight, muffled voices of Sam and Tucker from the front door, footsteps beating against the linoleum floor as they came closer. They offered a half-hearted excuse to my parents, footsteps pausing at the next door over while they did so.

Last minute studying.

Of course…why else had I been at Sam's?

My door wrenched itself open a few seconds later, three pairs of apprehensive eyes trained on me. Not that they'd been rude about it, as all three had tried to persuade me to open it myself before Jazz, admitting defeat, jimmied the lock. Honestly I had no idea how bad I looked right then, but judging from the three, synchronized flinches that met me on contact, I probably didn't want to know.

They walked in silently, Sam taking a seat on my bed while the other two hovered near the bedside table. She reached her hand up, hesitating a moment before brushing a lock of knotted hair from my face. Her mouth opened, like she was about to say something, but her question died in her throat, mouth shutting again. Instead she tucked the strand neatly behind my ear, throwing me a gentle smile, soft violet eyes offering silent support.

Silence rested heavily over us until…

"So…You had a rough night?" Tucker finally broke the tension, clearly at a lost for what he could do.

"You could say that…" I mumbled, dropping my gaze to my lap, still sitting in the same position I had been in yesterday. My hand wrapped around Sam's, pushing it back slightly. She understood, pulling her arm in before wrapping her fingers around both elbows instead, like she was cold.

"Are you…are you coming to school today? We asked Jazz, but she said it's still up to you…" Tucker spoke again, trying to spark up a conversation in some way. In all honesty I wouldn't have cared if we sat there for hours in the silence. After the time I'd spent so terrifyingly alone, I was just thankful enough having someone else by my side, silence or no silence,

Pity or no pity.

"Yeah, it's not like I can stay here." I muttered back, dropping my gaze a bit.

"Well if you wanted to lie and say you were sick y—"

"No," I cut him off midsentence, "I didn't mean that I won't be allowed to stay here. I just…I _can't. _I can'tstay here by myself. Not again, not all alone…" I wiped desperately at the tears pricking my eyes.

Jazz moved from her awkward position by the night table, wrapping her arms around me again (despite the fact that I'd told her off yesterday for doing that.)

"It wouldn't be so bad if you just sleep through the day again," she offered gently. "You need some rest and when I came to check on you yesterday you just looked so peaceful while you were—"

"—faking," I finished her sentence. Of course she'd stopped into my a few times after, with food or laundry or no excuse at all. But each visit I'd shut my eyes, battling against the awful images that flashed across my eyelids. Each time I felt her hesitate by the door, before locking it quietly behind her. I don't know why, but each time I didn't want her back in the room.

A twinge of guilt swept through my body as Jazz dropped her arms, gaze trailing to the floor with defeat and pain evident in her eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't mean…" My voice trailed off, unsure of what I'd meant to say.

I met their gazes one at a time. Each worried, tired, and subtly hurt expression cut through me like a razorblade. I wrenched my gaze away, feeling the whole world collapse on me again.

I can't handle this.

Silence worked its way between the four of us, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. For the second time I reached the conclusion that I couldn't dodge conversation forever. I'd made them just as much a part of this as I was; they didn't deserve to be shut out.

"It's just…" I started offhand, trying to find the thoughts that had tormented me all night. "I just…I don't know what I'm doing now—what I'm going to do." I pushed my feet out, dropping my hands so they rested comfortably on each leg. I never took my eyes off of them. "It's not like I didn't know what I was signing up for when I started doing…_this._ I'm not an idiot—A dozen different ghosts want me dead and I'm not oblivious to that. It's crossed my mind before…what could happen when I finally bite off more than I could chew in a fight, and I realized that…that this more than likely would be the death of me."

I paused to swallow, never meeting the gazes of the other three.

"The ghosts don't die. I could rip them apart like confetti and they'd come out all right…but I…I'm different. One well-aimed attack could just be…it for me. And I always thought…I always thought I was _okay_ with that. We all die, and if I just died a little sooner protecting everyone I love, it was fine." Tears started pricking at the corners of my eyes, resistant to my desperate attempts to wipe them away. "But I…I thought it would be _quick._ One stab to the heart with Skulker's ecto-blade, and I'd simply be gone. Nothing more. I was okay with _that."_

I shifted on the bed, pulling my legs back in while I covered my face in my hands.

"But _this…_This is different. I was never okay with this. Nothing was quick. Nothing was just gone. Instead everything was so agonizingly _there,_ when they cut me open, when I'm left alone, when I have to face them again. Everything that happened had been so clear, so _sharp_, and so long. After what's happened…I just…I can't let this go! They're my parents and I'm absolutely terrified of them! Everything feels so wrong, like a bad dream I can't wake up from…I'm scared…and weak and angry and confused and I don't even know if I was doing the right thing anymore! I would have been okay dying the hero, protecting everyone from a ghost only I had the ability to face." I stopped again, choking back the lump in my throat. "But this…I can't…I can't handle this…"

I took one, shuddering breath before I could finish.

"I'm not strong enough…"

I should have been more cautious, kept my voice lower, with my parents the next room over, but all the terrors of the night, of the night before, poured out of me in trembling, uncontrolled sobs. I buried my face deeper into my hands as three pairs of arms wrapped protectively around me.


	9. Snapped PS

Slight warning for disturbing flashbacks. Please enjoy.

…

Somehow I'd won the fight over taking the school bus. It's not easy winning an arguments when you're outnumbered three to one, and Jazz had seemed more than ready to cram me into her car by force, but partway through her argument, through some monologue promising she won't abandon me again, she lost her steam. Instead she sighed, mumbling something along the lines of 'It's your choice' before letting me out the front door. Pain and guilt twisted inside me, watching the three of them as I walked out the door; I knew I was hurting them again, but right now I didn't feel comfortable around them, telling them what I had.

Overall, it had definitely been one of the stranger arguments of my life, conducted in voices nowhere above a whisper, and even then hand gestures got most of our points across. The reason was obvious, as Mom and Dad were sitting at the kitchen table just a few yards from the front door. They sat there like any other day, cycling through their morning routine of coffee, toast (or bacon in my dad's case) and a thorough investigation of the morning paper for ghost sightings, before heading down to the lab. I scarcely looked at them this morning, not joining them for breakfast, and not speaking to them directly. Instead I fought my hardest to keep my eyes, and mind, focused on Jazz. But all the while I could feel my parents' eyes burning a hole clean through my back. From just a few fleeting glances I sent their way, it wasn't hard to see the apprehension eating into their eyes. The possibility hit me that they heard…something…from my room this morning. Not necessarily conversations or even words, since the walls were too thick for sound to travel through.

_Most of the time_ I thought with a shudder, the fight between Jazz and my parents wrenching itself to the front of my mind.

But no, they couldn't have heard specifics. They were still clues; they had to be. If not my parents would have either destroyed me on spot or destroyed themselves, instead of just sitting there quietly. And yet my room wasn't soundproof, which meant it was more than like sounds and voices had made it through the door.

_Great, Fenton, you haven't been home 24 hours and they already know something's up. You just have to keep up the act for the rest of you life and you'll be fine!_

I shook the thought from my head, trudging down the side walk with half of my scattered books shoved roughly into my bag. Most of my school supplies were spread out on my bedroom floor, the result of my first honest attempt to get homework done beforehand. But the well-intended Saturday studying session just resulted in angrily scattered papers, crumpled up notes by the waste bin, and eventually a break on the Op center roof to collect my thoughts.

So much for good intentions.

I hadn't had the heart this morning to pick up my haphazardly kicked around materials: too many memories connected to them. Instead I found myself paused at the corner of the cold street, bag scarcely half-packed, with everyone who sympathized with my situation abandoned at my house, understanding that I "need some space right now."

My thoughts completely abandoned my body in the time it took for the bus to arrive, and soon enough I found myself leaning against the tempered window, my breath fogging the glass as the world passed by me.

I hated it,

Counting the cars that passed by on the suitably overcast morning.

Against my will, the thoughts in my mind started to stray, wander back to before…this. Since I'd received my powers, I'd hardly taken the bus, hardly let Jazz drive me. No. None of that could compare to the sheer joy of flying from my house to the school. Everything about it felt exhilarating: the freedom, the wind in my hair, brushing my face; Days like these were usually the best for flying. Briskly cold, air damp with the promise of snow. Nothing ever felt wrong, like I could feel why, through everything I had to do, I enjoyed being who I was.

I wondered if I'd ever feel that again.

The bus gave an unsteady jolt, plowing over the snow bank that had built up on the side of the road. For a moment I was jerked back to reality, but I quickly fought off the feeling, eyes all the while focused on the street.

_12, 13._

Ignorance became harder with each passing second, though. Obnoxious shouting, whining, and gratuitous cursing from everyone around me threatened to break into my mind. The atmosphere on the bus had never been pleasant: always too loud, too annoying, and most days you're guaranteed to have some personal effect ripped from your grasp and tossed from seat to seat in a sporting game of "keep away". Usually, on trips after long nights spent fighting the same ghosts over and over, when I was exhausted, hurt, and fed up with the world, I could never handle a bus ride to school. But today it was different.

Yes, they were loud. Yes, they were obnoxious. And yes, Dash tried to toss my bag around, before losing interest when I gave no response. But at the same time, it almost felt good being here.

Simply because no one knew.

No one stared at me like for the pathetic creature I'd become. No one fought back tears when I made eye contact. No one choked me in an unwanted hug, begging me to understand it would be alright. They had no pity for me, no sympathy, and no special treatment.

I swear that was worth the bus ride 20 times over. I wasn't suffocating under tearstained gazes, or the presence of my clueless torturers. And yet I wasn't forced into solitude either. It was…better, but not alright.

I knew it would never be.

Yet I kept that to myself, preferring no one else know as well.

_28…_

…

The bus dropped us off in the ice-covered lot of Casper High after making its rounds through the town. I made my way across the pavement, feeling so strangely separated from the masses of grumbling students who shoved past me. Everything looked so normal, so…the same.

I appreciated the irony of it. Just another Monday when the world has shattered to pieces.

The bell rang within a few minutes of drop off, school doors opening to a flood of tired high school students. I had known to expect it from the moment I made it inside, but I still flinched ever so slightly as I rounded the hall, coming face to face with Sam and Tucker, who were nervously floating by my locker. Their eyebrows arched on contact, mouths turning in half-hearted smiles that never reached their eyes. I sighed, dropping my gaze to the floor as I hitched my backpack over my shoulder.

"So was everything okay on the bus ride?" Tucker offered anxiously as I worked to remember my combo.

I yanked at the lock, which refused to budge. _No, Tuck, we actually got into a huge crash, drove off a bridge, and then caught fire. Lucky me being able to phase through the mangled wreck._"Yeah…It was just…a normal bus ride really. Nothing special to report." I banged my head against the locker, frustration getting the better of me as my locker refused to open for the third time. Sam snuck a lithe hand to my dial, turning it a few times before it was rendered open with a soft click.

"Thanks…" I muttered, sifting through my books without actually remembering which ones I needed.

"Listen, Danny, I know Tucker is terrible at small talk, but it's just…" Sam started, trailing off on the thought. I turned my attention from my locker, meeting her gaze. "I…I know there isn't much Tucker and I can do to make things right. I know part of you wants to push us away, and that's okay; it's how you always function when things get too tough. But this sort of thing doesn't have to be yours alone to deal with. We're best friends, and we're meant to be here to lean on when you think…you think you're not strong enough to handle things. We're just…just here for you is all. Always. Regardless of what happens, we'll be standing right by your side."

Sam blushed slightly, her cheeks glowing under the fluorescent hallway lights. Her eyes traveled to her shoes, head tilted down. She shuffled her feet as she mulled over whatever had gone through her head. Her gaze flickered to me for a moment, cheeks flushing brighter before she pushed herself to her tiptoes, pecking me softly on the cheek.

"Whether you want us to be or not," she finished with a whisper, her cheeks glowing far brighter.

I met her eyes silently, feeling the misery and pain etched into my own soften, ever so slightly. Staring into hers, I saw for the first time how truly beautiful they were, how much of my existence depended on them just…being there. I felt myself flushing slightly as I responded.

"I-I know."

The bell rang overhead as moping students filed from their homeroom doors. Everyone here always had a serious case of the Mondays.

I closed my locker, giving up on finding the right books as I turned to follow the wave of students. Before I got far though, I threw a glance back at my two best friends.

"I'll see you guys in a few periods. Just…don't fall apart before then, okay?" _Funny, aren't I?_

"We'll try not to," Sam answered, the smile finally touching her beautiful amethyst eyes.

I mirrored her look, the first real grin brushing my lips in seemingly forever.

The pity was unbearable, true, I thought to myself as I made my way down the hall. I can't stand the pain and hurt in their eyes that must reflect my own, but I realized overall, it was worth it to have them by my side.

Always.

Whether I wanted them to be or not.

…

The first few periods passed in a complete blur, my mind finally locating that feelingless stupor that had buried itself far from reach the day before. It had stayed so far out of my grasp overnight, yet today the forced normalcy of everything dug up the feeling, walking me through the motions like watching a recording of an average school day. The conversations were unimaginably painful, forced smiles and laughs feeling like they were eating away at what sanity I had left, but more importantly, they were possible. I could still interact when forced to. I knew I was "off" today; my classmates and teachers must have noticed too, but I was confident that the truth was at least safe from them.

The grades in all my classes had plummeted since the beginning of the year, homework and studying usually out of the question when it came to protecting the town. Yet even throughout my carrier as a ghost hunter, I knew this was a new all time high for "most assignments missing." Whatever little work I had done was scattered on my bedroom floor or kicked under the bed, and the majority of the worksheets I had were completely blank. Admitting I didn't have the assignment complete, a few teachers just shook their head as they scribbled a zero into their grade book; others asked for some sort of explanation I knew I could never give. For most of those, however, I just shrugged, eyes glued to the floor as I mumbled some half-hearted response along the lines of "I forgot."

The skeptical glances I received betrayed the fact that they didn't believe me, something else clearly eating away at my conscience. Usually I had a much better excuse at the ready, worked out almost on spot as I raced through the building, Phantom becoming Fenton, to my cut period. But today I had no brilliant reason or alibi. I had nothing really. Luckily, though, none of the teachers argued with me. From the way many drew back when I looked at them, they must have figured, whatever the reason, it was none of their business to know. I was thankful each time they backed off. If they hadn't, I'm certain each one could have ripped me apart with just the slightest bit of prompting; I could hardly string two words together in my unfeeling stupor, let alone make a valid argument. I had no follow up to "I forgot", and frankly I don't know what would have happened if the situation demanded one. It scared me, the thought of what could happen if I were forced to think, forced to act; autopilot mode would never survive it. But I didn't let the thoughts dwell in my mind, instead letting the time pass in complete silence. Within half an hour of my first period, the world around me was virtually gone. The ringing of the bell even slipped past my notice once or twice, forcing a few nearby students, each wearing uncertain, apprehensive looks, to jar me from my stupor while everyone else packed up and left. The nothingness I felt was bordering on pleasant.

But it wouldn't last forever, and I knew it. I couldn't keep this up for too long, and certainly not the whole school day. I was at a loss as to what could happen when it crumbled entirely.

And slowly, I could feel myself fading. My mood, which may have passed for tiredness or plain boredom when I focused all my effort on maintaining it, was steadily slipping. Even on "autopilot", the flashbacks were getting harder to bite down. I flinched at the slightest sound, the sheer terror coursing through my body made evident in my eyes. My fingers dug into my palms, heart racing as my eyes widened in the sudden tumult of horror. After each attack I was left silently panting, sweat coating my face as I fought against the trembling in my body. Students started to notice; a few throwing me odd looks in class when I tensed, forcing me then to fight against the feelings clawing to the surface like my life depended on it. They always looked away as soon as I made eye contact, pretending to have been staring out the window or reading the board behind me. No one had to courage to ask what was wrong, and thankfully, though, I was already the "weird" kid, which meant none of them were compelled to.

First through fourth period passed in a daze. Small, encouraging smile from my two friends burned in my memory from class to class, but nothing else stuck. Fourth period itself, gym class, was spent in hiding. I hung back in the far corner, watching Dash and a few of his friends pummel the rest of the class in a far too motivated game of dodge ball. I wasn't in the mood for dealing with his crap though, so I phased invisible, watching as the coach tried desperately to restore order to Dash's mass chaos. ("You only need to hit your opponent _once,_Mr. Baxter. Keep this up and I'm throwing you out of the game!")

Overall, I wasn't forced to act normal here. Sam and Tucker couldn't make any effort to talk to me once I disappeared, but I still saw them throw worried glances around the gym between assaults from the football players.

It just gave me time to think.

Which was definitely the worst part.

My nearly thoughtless stupor was chiseled down to scarcely a skeleton of what it once was, gruesome images reaching through the holes they'd eaten in my defense. By the end of the period, I was left staring into my gym locker, Sam and Tucker long since dismissed to our next class. I'd have to deal with them again, as much as I needed their support, it meant being thrown back into reality, with a barrier near non-existent. I kept my hands clutched around the locker's edges as I tried to steady my breathing.

_(Get a hold of yourself!)_panic flushing through me.

_How exactly? They ripped me open on an operating table and sawed out my organs! Which "part" of myself should I be holding? Because chances are it's rotting back in the lab!_

_(Stop it!)_

_They were my own parents! The parents I still have to come home to every day,_talk_to everyday. They literally hacked me to pieces! How can I expect to live through coming home if I can't keep myself together at school?_

I noticed that my hands were trembling when I was wrenched back to reality. Actual reality. The kind that wanted to eat me alive.

"Hey Fen-_turd!_ I didn't get a chance to wail on you during gym."

_Good morning Dash._

I swung my head around, finding the locker room entirely empty save for the two of us. I turned back to my open locker, trying my hardest to rebuild the wall in my mind that Dash effectively destroyed the last of.

"Hey, I'm talking to you Fentonia! You tried to skip your daily wailing today, but I'm more than happy to make up for it by beating you to a bloody pulp! Besides, I could use a punching bag right about now."

_Shut up._

"You wanna know what I got on my math midterm?"

_Shut up!_

"Let's just say it's about to make you sorry you didn't get your butt out of here sooner!"

The collar of my shirt pulled tightly around my throat as Dash bunched up the back in his fist. I stumbled away from my locker as he yanked, hard, on the neckline. His actions caught me off guard, a wave of sheer terror rippling through my body. I struggled against his grip, clutching at the fabric tightly pulled around my neck, but he only pulled tighter, cutting off the air.

_I was trapped. I was suffocating. The chainsaw grinding through my body over and over._

Dash spun me around to face him, reestablishing his hold on the front of my shirt as he raised one fist behind his head, a cruel smirk crossing his face.

_No! Not now! Not again! You can escape. Phase now before they slice you back open!_

The delirious thoughts fought their way to the surface, connecting with my ghostly core as my whole body, if only for a second, vanished on spot.

Dash lost his balance, his fist swinging clean through the air my head still occupied. His grip fell from my shirt, sending him headfirst into my locker.

Had I done this any other time, it would have been funny. Hysterical, even, to watch Dash's arms desperately pinwheel through the open air as his head was shoved into my locker.

It wasn't though. I was sick of Dash. I was sick of everything he'd done, everything I had to put up with, everything that had happened. Had I been acting on impulse, I'm sure I would have blasted the room to pieces on spot, happily taking myself out if it meant wiping Dash from the face of this earth.

I kept myself in check, though, but the burning desire for revenge ate through my heart like acid.

I stepped to the side of my locker, watching as Dash yanked his head out. A lone white sock clung to his hair, which he ripped off instantly, murderous rage in his eyes. I blanched while he grabbed me by my exposed throat this time, pulling up just enough to make my toes scrape the ground.

"Think you're _funny,_Fenton? Well how 'bout I lock you inside your locker instead? The next gym class doesn't get here until 7th period. I think it should be a fun few hours."

His grip was slowly cutting off my air, far more effectively, and more terrifyingly, than he had with my collar. I watched in horror, my lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, while Dash remained completely oblivious.

_The Fenton Scrambler was ripping through every fiber of my body, paralyzing my diaphragm as I literally suffocated before my parents' eye._

He forced me back, pushing me against the locker's open door.

_Trapped, and so terrifyingly helpless. No matter how hard I struggled I couldn't make the restraints come loose._

Boiling rage surged through my system.

_Not again. I won't live through that again._

Energy pooled in my palms, my body's defenses overriding my actual thoughts as the swelling ectoplasm grew brighter. Without looking I could feel the power sizzling across my hand, glowing toxically with every ounce of murderous rage my delirius mind harbored for Dash. The pooling energy charged to full capacity and further, well beyond the strength I reserved for almost any ghost.

_I'm not going through that hell again._

My eyes flashed a toxic green, and I hesitated just long enough to watch the confusion cross Dash's face before I released the crackling ecto-blast arcing across my palm.

Right into his chest.

He literally toppled backwards, pain and terror joining the horrible confusion that consumed his expression. He hit the locker behind him, hand flying to the singed and fraying part of his shirt, smoking slightly from the attack.

I fell to my knees, sucking in trembling, shuddering breaths as the world came back into focus. My eyes rose from the floor, watching Dash gape from against the lockers. His mouth hung open, jaw almost convulsing as his lower lip trembled, trying to find something to say.

I forced myself up, legs nearly giving out as I phased my hand straight through the next locker, pulling out a clean (well, perhaps not clean, but hole-free) shirt and tossing it in Dash's direction. He silently understood, taking the shirt to replace his own singed one.

I got the first glimpse of the damage as he yanked off his school-issue shirt, two trembling hands fumbling to get it over his head. The shirt had been burned clean through, but the skin underneath looked relatively undamaged, slightly red if anything, as Dash tried to recover from the shock. I silently thanked the fact that my ghost powers weren't anywhere near as strong in human form. As Phantom, my attack easily could have killed him.

I wrenched my gaze to his eyes, watching as he flinched. Despite my conscious eating into me, warning that I had made—was making—a huge mistake, I couldn't find the motivation to care. Instead I shot him a glare that funneled all the anger boiling inside. Eyebrows knitted together, pure hatred emanating from my eyes, I found my voice between heavy, panting breaths.

"The hell's wrong with you anyway?" I snapped. Satisfaction flooded through my veins as he winced again. "It's not like I've done anything to you! To anyone for that fact! For months I've done nothing but try to _help_ people. So why am I suffering for that? Why does everything I do—and don't do—blow up in my face like I had it coming?" I pushed myself to my feet, taking a few shaky steps toward Dash, who huddled against the wall in fear. "It's because you can't open your eyes god-damn wide enough to see I don't deserve your crap! I never deserved any of it! Yet somehow you think you can just on waltz in here planning to tear me apart like it's _fun? Because I can't fight back?"_–Another terrified flinch—"Ever stop to consider what it's like in my place? Of course not, because I couldn't possibly have feelings or emotions like anyone else! Why listen to me anyway? I'm not even human!"

I caught my breath, long suppressed anger flooding out of my system. I gave one more piercing stare to the trembling, indigo eyes that met me from the locker-room floor.

I pulled my backpack from the ground, stalking off to the exit.

"I'm not your punching bag anymore, Dash," I noted as I slung the pack over my shoulder. Worry started to eat into me, realizing, as my breathing slowed, what I'd just done. I turned to face him again, watching him flinch on contact. "And…no one hears about this."

But with the anger drained from my body, reason forced its way back into my mind. Grounded thoughts ran through my head. Real ones. Coherent ones.

_Do you really believe you don't deserve any of this? Or are you just trying to funnel your anger and doubt into violent spurts of denial?_

_(Don't start.)_

_You're just proving yourself to be a danger to everyone around you this way. Why shouldn't you be put in your place?_

_(Shut it!)_I snarled back, burying the thoughts as deep as possible.

I made to close the door behind me, intending to lock Dash inside if at all possible. But I stopped short of shutting it, leaving just a few inches to shoot one last seething comment into the near empty room.

"Besides, no one would believe you anyway."

And I slammed the door shut.

Stalking down the hall, though, I knew that wasn't true. Partially, it wasn't true.

_I can think of at least three people who'd believe him._I shuddered slightly. _Two of which I'll be seeing next period._


	10. Phone Calls PR l PS

Chapter 10! I know it's a bit on the short side, but it was originally twice as long and got split into chapters 10 and 11. So yes, chapter 11 _is _written, but I haven't had the proper chance to edit it yet, so I'll do that tonight and upload it tomorrow after math league, promise! In addition, I've decided I need to be more cautious around school. (Funny story time) This Monday I passed by the guidance councilor's office on my way to German and-I swear on my own grave-the first name written on the door was "Mrs. H. Spector-child psychologist". So if I notice Ms. Spectra's long lost sister wandering down the hall, I'll be sure to figure out some plan of action...at least before she tries to blow up my classmates with spirit sparklers. :)

Okay end of my funny story! Please enjoy, and reviewers have my eternal gratitude!

...

Time in general never passes at a constant speed, slower at times, then faster, then not at all. Some days I can close my eyes for just an instant and feel hours upon hours of my weekend melting away. Still others the clock hands seem to stand still, or creep around the face like they're talking a lazy Sunday afternoon stroll. But time will never pass more slowly than when you're forced to count each and every second.

334.

That's five minutes, 34 seconds, if my math holds up,

_alone_,

in silence,

with my parents.

Five minutes 34 seconds before Jazz rushed through the door, sweeping me up in a suffocating hug. And yet I was so sure it had to be longer; an eternity could easily have fit into those 334 seconds, but no, I was counting—Trust me.

I stood there, listening to the metronome of the second hand, never taking my eyes off the two broken figures. I watched, a mix of fear and uncertainty eating into my expression as my parents collapsed—literally crumbled-onto the couch, pulled tightly into each other's arms. Mom's form still shook with receding sobs, until she wrenched her arms out of Dad's grasp and wrapped them tightly around her midsection, as if she were trying to hold herself together. My dad, though, sat rigidly still, hands never leaving Mom's shoulders as his eyes bore into the wall across the room. I followed his gaze, finding it only led to the pale, uniform blue wall across the room. There were no knicks or stains on its surface, no residue from some unstable experiment, literally nothing he _could_ be staring at. Instead his eyes were just lost in the wall, drowning in the sea of sickly powder blue, seeing nothing, finding nothing, understanding nothing. For a moment I watched as his eyes flickered to me. They lingered for no more than an instant, back to the wall, then to me for just an instant more. Still, they were unfocused, unseeing, not actually believing I was there. Staring him down, despite the shivers it sent down my spine, I could see how deep into his own autopilot mode my dad had fallen.

_It'll be hell once you wake up from it, though. _My mind mused._ Trust me. It always is._

As the moments passed—each second carefully counted—standing there became too much. I was alone with them, my own parents, the ones who'd tortured me with no remorse, who'd fallen to pieces just as I had. My own autopilot crumbled in an instant, realizing then, perhaps for the first time since this happened, just how real this—everything—had become. I wasn't playing some twisted videogame, or cramming popcorn into my mouth while enjoying some blockbuster horror movie, or walking through the motions of everything like the curious spectator to someone else's life. No.

This had happened.

This was real.

And this was my fault.

The thought was shaken from my mind once Jazz had wrenched open the front door, streams of drying tears shimmering under her eyes. Relief flooded across her face as she rested her eyes on me.

"Oh, Danny, thank god…" She whispered, words muffled through my hair as she swept me into her arms.

I stood still for just a moment, hoping to repay Jazz for the worry I'd caused her as she rocked gently, arms still wrapped tightly around me. My mind refused to lose the rhythm of the passing seconds, carefully counting them through her hair. I couldn't let it go on forever though, the weight of the situation suffocating me under her grasp; at the 5 second mark I pushed her away, feeling her grip loosen as I turned to the kitchen.

"Danny…What are you?..." Jazz started, only reaching out her arm as I walked away, like she was glued to the spot.

"There are still some people I need to call…" I mumbled, not turning to face her as I pulled the corded kitchen phone from the receiver.

Jazz took a few timid steps forward, unsure how to continue. Instead she hung back near the entrance between the two rooms, staring silently for a moment.

"Okay…"

I dialed the number without needing to think, fingers following the pattern that had long since been engrained in my mind.

I listened to the phone ring, back to counting the seconds before a voice on the other line answered.

"_Hello?"_

"Hey, Sam…It's Danny." I mumbled, not sure if my words could be made out over the line.

"_Danny?—" _Sam's voice cut out for a moment, static cutting through the line as she shouted something to her mother. "_Is…Is everything alright?"_

"No..." My mouth was dry, stomach twisting as the reality of the situation hit once more. "Listen, Sam…something's happened, something bad. I just…I need you and Tucker to get over here…now…"

"_Why?"_

"Please, don't- Just…I need you here…

"…Please…" I almost cringed, the sheer weakness and fear in my voice grating against my ears.

"_What happened, Danny?" _Panic seeped into her words, each syllable hard, emphasized, demanding an answer.

I refused to open my mouth though, hoping she'd sigh and promise to be right over, hoping I could find some way around an explanation. Instead I let the silence dominate-seconds still ticking in my head: 8, 9, 10…

"_Danny?..." _-11, 12, 13- _"Danny? Are you there?"_

"Yeah…yeah I'm still here." My eyes trailed to the floor, ignoring my sister who was still hovering by the doorway. The numbers disappeared from my mind, vanishing as I lost track—somewhere around 16. My mind had lost its preoccupation, searching desperately for something, _anything_ else to dwell on, but to no avail. I didn't want to be the one to tell her; I could feel myself slipping, hating how bad I'd let things get. But there was no use drawing out the silence any longer. My options were dying quickly.

"Sam…" I started, fingers wrapping around the phone cord. "…I…I had to tell them. They know."

"…_Who?" _The connection crackled, static cutting out her words for just a moment. _"-ou…knows, Danny?"_

_You're really going to make me say it?_

"My parents…" I choked. "My parents know, Sam…Please…Please just get over here."

"_My god Danny…" _the breath dying in her throat as she spoke. "Does Tucker know yet?"

I shook my head, realizing after a moment that she couldn't see me. "N-no…"

"…_Don't-don't worry, Danny; I can call him for you. We'll be over as soon as possible."_ She paused for moment. _"It'll be alright; I promise."_

_No…it won't._

"Thanks…" I muttered, my voice hardly reaching my own ears.

I set the receiver down, listening to it click as the connection died. But my hand hung in place, fingers still gripped tightly around the phone as I paused.

"C'mon, Danny…" Jazz offered, giving me her hand, "let's go sit down. We'll wait somewhere more comfortable until they get here."

"No." I kept my eyes locked on the phone, thoughts turning in my head as I struggled to reach a decision. "There's someone else I want to call."

No conscious effort compelled my fingers to lift the phone again, compelled me to raise it back to my ear and dial the number that had been itching at the tips of my fingers. My body acted on its own, thoughts too jumbled to be held responsible for my actions anymore. This time I didn't count the seconds before the line clicked into life. The numbers were gone; instead I choked the blood flow from my fingers, cord curled tightly around them while anxiety ate throw me. _Do I really want to do this?_

"_Hello?"_ The voice on the other line broke in, smooth, if not slightly annoyed.

"It-it's Danny…" I started weakly, fingers growing number by the second.

"_Daniel?...Is that-?" _The voice paused for a moment, contemplating what to say. "_…I'm surprised…" _he finished off hand. "_Has something happened?"_

"Yes…I-I need your help." I swallowed, hoping the man on the other side would break the silence. He didn't though, refused to, and I found myself forced to continue. "Please…my parents know that they…" _I can't do this. "_…that I…" _Please don't make me say it.. _"…I had to tell them…I had to tell them what happened. And I just…I can't do this. I need help..." I finished lamely, my voice fallen to a whisper again.

"…_You told them? Daniel, I—Why would you do something so foolish?"_

"I…I didn't have a choice!" My voice rose again, cracking like a scared child. "…Please…Please I know you're better than this. Normally I'd never ask…But it's just…I know there's a part of you that actually cares. There's nothing I can offer you in return…But please, I'm asking just this once." My voice was nearly dead again, too low for Jazz to hear.

"Please help me."

The voice on the other side sighed, defeat marring his tone. "_I… I suppose I can. Just due to the circumstances I'll…I'll be there in a few minutes."_

"Thanks…" I whispered, making to put the phone down. But I hesitated, the thought that had eaten away at my mind tumbling out. "And honestly…I need back up if case anything goes…wrong…" I swallowed hard, biting down the panic rising in my throat. "If they don't listen…I wouldn't be strong enough to survive a second time…"

"…_Of course…"_

I heard the connection die, resting the receiver on the table beneath its fixing in the wall. My shoulders slumped, leaning my weight against the wooden surface as I struggled to collect my thoughts.

"Who was that, Danny?" Jazz asked, her tone careful as she tried to place her hands on my shoulders.

I shrugged her off though, walking into the living room like I hadn't heard.

…

Despite being the last one I called, despite having the farthest distance to travel, my third wall of support arrived before Sam and Tucker.

The two broken figures startled from the couch, throwing wild glances around the room at the sound of the door bell, clearly shaken from their trance. I ignored them, not bothering with another glance in their direction as I opened the door myself.

I yanked on the knob, surprised crossing my face as I took in the view before me. For whatever reason, I didn't see the man I had been expecting, a near stranger standing at the entrance instead. No, the figure meeting my gaze scarcely resembled the one in my mind. The cockiness in his face had faded into non-existence, the air of smug arrogance that followed him like a stench gone completely. His prideful grin gone, gleaming eyes dulled, rigid posture slumped in show of uncertainty.

I didn't see my arch rival standing at the door, the man who'd done his best to put me through hell, the man who'd robbed people of billions, who'd tried every dirty tactic in the book to steal my mom, the man who'd nearly disposed of my father. No. The person standing in front of me resembled none of that, not even remotely. Part of me refused to believe I could be looking at the same person. The humble, almost lost expression that brushed his face when the door opened, the softness that melted his usually cold, calculating eyes, the honest attempt at a half-smile, tugging awkwardly at the corner of his mouth, erased everything that once defined him.

I stepped back from the door, leaving enough room for him to enter.

"I never thought I'd say this, but…I'm glad to see you here." My fingers ran nervously through my hair, far thinner and duller than it had been just a month ago.

"I…I really appreciate it…Vlad."

…

…

_Idiot!_

My mind seethed, chipping away at the cloud of anger that tried to shut out reality.

_You're wanted. You're a criminal. You're not even human. And now you're attacking people? _Actually _attacking them? They have rights and protection by the law; half human freaks don't! Sure, you could have cowered under your image like its some kind of defense. Could have protested that you were the good guy once the Guys in White finally grow a second brain cell between them and cart you away. You _could_ have played the "hero" card, despite the terror you cause, to save your own skin. But who would look twice at some mutant, some _freak, _who's been using his powers to hurt actual humans?_

_(He had it coming!)_

_You deserve to be locked away, experiments and all._

I hardly noticed once I reached my 5th period class, hesitating for a moment in the hall while I tried to shut down my mind. The anger and guilt and self-loathing that ripped apart my reality were forcibly quelled, my breathing steadying as I felt parts of my soul torn to shreds.

The door was already closed when I arrived, indicating I was late, and alerting the whole class to my arrival once I turned the knob. Heads swiveled to the door as it creaked open.

_So much for sneaking in unnoticed._

"You're late, Mr. Fenton."

"Forgot my English book…" I grumbled, sliding into my seat without bothering to meet Sam and Tucker's worried looks.

"That's the third time since the start of the month you've come in late and I can't keep letting you…you…" Mr. Lancer's eyebrows scrunched together, uncertainty crossing his face. "…Are you okay, Mr. Fenton?"

I wrenched my gaze from the desk, eyes widening as I met Mr. Lancer's stare.

_Bad decision…_I thought, as I watched him pull back a bit, shrinking from the hurt and pain that had become impossible to hide in my eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine…just a little tired." I answered, immediately throwing my gaze to the floor.

_Fine? You're a freaking lab rat! _

I felt the silence draw out, far too many eyes turned on me for comfort. Yet none felt more suffocating than the two pairs that met me from the next two seats over, teal and violet eyes burning a hole through my head.

Mr. Lancer hesitated, trying to decide whether he should respond. I felt my heart drop a few inches when he finally did.

"You didn't seem fine this morning…"

I felt myself start, cursing the fact that Lancer had been acting as universal sub for the school. Teachers were dropping right and left since the ghost attacks became more frequent—more dangerous—and substitutes willing to work in Casper High became even scarcer, which only left the option of doubling up existing teachers, Lancer at the front of the line. It's a shame he's a history buff too. History and English, unfortunately, just gave Mr. Lancer twice as long to figure out something was wrong.

Hands twisting together under the desk, I raised my eyes back to the teacher, a painfully forced grin marring my face. "Really…fine. Just tired."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better, turning back to the notes he was writing on the board.

"Alright then…"

Two at a time, the eyes around the room lost interest in me, turning to face the board as they copied down notes.

Mind focused on the chalk as he scribbled down a list of important American poets, Mr. Lancer never noticed the cowering football star sneak into the class a few minutes later, never opening the door wide enough to issue its rusty creak. Lancer never saw the boy slink right past his normal seat, settling down in the desk farthest from my own, never saw the way his terrified eyes burned a hole through my head, unwilling to leave me for a second.

At least two others had noticed, however, already suspicious of my half-baked excuse. The same two sets of eyes, teal and violet, silently demanded an answer from me as they feigned interest in the board. Finally I turned to face them, only when I was positive Lancer was engrossed in his monotone lecture.

"_I'll tell you over lunch" _I mouthed, turning back to my blank sheet of paper without offering them a chance to respond.


	11. Heroless PS

Chapter 11! And yeah, I know it's a day late, but if it makes you feel any better, it turned into a pretty insanely long chapter…It's still well over twice as long as a normal one, and I considered cutting it—again—to be more time efficient. But there is a scene at the end of this chapter I've been dying to get online and into the story, so I kept it together as one. Well I'm tired, and I hope you all enjoy!

**Warning** for graphic and disturbing imagery.

Reviewers are loved!

…

…

I wasn't two feet out the door when Sam and Tucker caught up with me, lagging at my sides with unzipped backpacks bundled in their arms, hastily stuffed-in books hanging out the sides, as they tried to keep up with me. I ignored them, though, head forward with my eyes set on the cafeteria doors. Neither of them had to courage to demand an explanation, not with all the students filing down the hall, most happily chatting with their friends on the way to lunch. But there'd be no escape once we found our normal table in the back; their worried expressions clearly set on a plan of action when I glanced to either side.

It hurt to think how much I'd worried them: there in gym period and gone the next. They were my two best friends, who stuck by my side whenever I was struggling, and now I've done nothing but hurt them, burden them, and worry them. They didn't deserve this; maybe I did, my own stupidity landing me in the situation I never feared in my wildest dreams, but they had been dragged through the mud with me.

At the very least I owed them an explanation.

…

My legs gave out from under me, slumping into my seat as I fished through my bag for whatever lunch Jazz had packed for me. Yet I kept my head down, eyes averted, refusing to say anything; they could start the conversation.

"Sooo…" Tucker began, drumming his fingers on the table while his eyes wandered around the cafeteria.

He was saved from starting the discussion though, as Sam cut in next to him.

"What _happened,_ Danny?" She pressed, eyes burning into mine. "I saw you at the end of gym period. You were _there,_ and by English you'd…just vanished."

I sighed, pulling the saran wrap off my lunch. "Dash was being a jerk so I blasted him into the locker. End of story." I paused, fiddling with the wrapping a bit before raising my eyes.

Quickly though I dropped my gaze, cringing at the horrified look in their eyes. "He's fine, trust me…" I trailed off, poking at the sandwich I had no interest in eating.

"Danny…you didn't…" Sam's voice was weak, disbelief twisting in her tired eyes.

"I…I don't think I hurt him!" I countered, instantly feeling like a child backed into a corner, desperately defending the decision I knew would come back to bite me.

Sam shut her mouth, letting the silence do her talking. She didn't need words, her eyes expressing the hurt that now constantly burned in them. The fear in her eyes ate through my conscious, all the pain and sadness clouding her usual spark directed solely toward me, _for_ me, scared and hurt and confused because of me.

_I'm sorry._

I couldn't stand looking for long, watching what I was doing to her. The corners of my sandwich ripped free in my hands, frustration and nerves tearing my lunch to shreds. I didn't bother explaining the flashbacks, or the cold fear I felt when he pinned me. It didn't even seem worth it to protest that I hadn't meant to, because bottom line, I _did_ attack him.

"It's fine, Sam." I cut in, dropping the sandwich from my hands.

" It's not, Danny…This is dangerous…" She whispered. "I mean…after everything that…You should never have…" But she stopped, simply staring me down with eyes that dulled further, disappointment snuffing whatever little spark had remained. That look—the disappointment cut through me like a knife.

"Well go on…just yell at me and get it over with. I did something wrong and I shouldn't have!"

_Please just yell. I can't stand watching you hurt like it's my fault; I can't take the disappointment._

"No, Danny, I'm not going to yell at you." She offered softly. "Everything considered, there's no real reason to blame you…"

_Please, don't look at me like that!_

"It's not like he's got any proof to back up what happened!" I started abruptly, throwing my hands down on the table, causing the silent third member of our discussion to jump in his seat. "And what exactly can he say? 'Hey you'll never believe it but Fenton's a ghost powered freak who blasted me into a wall and now my shirt's burned!'" I couldn't hide the anger in my voice, but I caught the tone, trying desperately to lighten my infliction. I began tapping at my chest toward the end of the imitation, pawing almost, in a vain attempt to mock the dangerous situation I knew I'd thrown myself into. But creeping waves of dread swept through my body, shuddering at the thought of doing that in ghost form, and my hand fell to my lap. "You should have seen the look on his face…I think I could have ordered him to show up to class in a tutu and he wouldn't have argued." I sighed, giving up completely on the sandwich, despite my stomach's growling protests. "I told Dash to keep this between us. His lips are sealed."

"But Danny…" Sam snuck her hand across the table, wrapping her fingers in mine as she locked gazes. Her expression—it ate through me like acid no matter how hard I tried to look away. Those amethyst irises, not mad or appalled like I'd first anticipated when we sat at the table, instead only held that heartwrenching disappointment, only held the fear and worry I saw before, now coupled with and a deep desire to be helpful in a helpless situation. Would you call that defeat? "We're talking about Dash here. Even if he doesn't mean to, sooner or later he could slip up. I doubt people would believe him, but they'll still listen…"

She pulled my hands closer to her, raising them with hers so that they covered her mouth.

I could have told her not to continue, that I understood what she meant, but I remained silent, letting a few seconds pass in silence before she finished her thought.

"…I just…I can't imagine the kind of rumors that would start. And if they see that Fenton always disappears when Phantom shows up and vise versa…well it could change from coincidence to proof. What would you do then?"

"**Well I don't see myself having to worry about that anytime soon**!" I snapped, yanking my hand out of Sam's grip. "I'm not sure what you two saw, but judging from what I _felt_as Phantom, I don't think I'll have much to do with him any longer! Unless you to have some genius idea about how the fight ghosts with your guts falling out!"

Sam pulled her hands into her lap, dropping her gaze to the cafeteria floor. "Sorry…"

A flustered sigh passed my lips as I hung my head, nervous fingers running through my hair. A thousand thoughts and feelings swirled in my mind at once, each one threatening to shatter me under its weight, but shame trumped them all. "No…no I'm sorry, Sam." My hands fell to the table, chin resting against my chest as my eyes traced the ridges in my palms. "I really need to stop snapping at you guys…I'm not being fair…"

-I paused—

"It's not even you I'm angry at…"

Sam raised her eyes, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Yeah, we know, Danny." She pushed her hand toward me again, but thought better of it, pulling it back into her lap. "It's what we're here for. You can be angry at us if you want."

I tried to smile back, my expression faltering at the two shimmering tears welling in her eyes.

Tucker had remained quiet, catching my attention now for the first time. His eyebrows were knitted in concentration, his calculating eyes lost in thought behind his thick rimmed glasses. Finally he spoke, voice barely audible over the chaos of the cafeteria.

"That's the problem, Danny…You're right."

Sam and I both turned to face him, the silent communication between us severed.

"It's not like I mean to snap. It's jus-"

"No, that's not what I mean." Tucker started, cutting me off midsentence. "It's just…what _are_we going to do about…about your ghost half? There's just no way you can continue being Danny Phantom after what's happened…Usually you can heal so quickly that ghost fights don't slow you down. But at Sam's…Danny you looked _worse_than when I had freed you…You said…you said that your body wasn't healing, and if that's the case, what will happen next time a ghost attacks?" Tucker pulled his glasses from his worn out eyes, wiping away a bit of dust that had gathered on the lens. "I can't imagine what it must have felt like…but from what I _saw_, Danny, it-it was scary. You can't…you can't risk going ghost." He placed the spectacles back over his eyes, staring me down with a look that easily aged him 20 years. "In your condition you'd never be able to win, maybe not even against the box ghost." His eyes darted from me to Sam, back to me again. "…So what do we do?"

I felt cold dread seep into my heart at his words, bringing to light the issue that had been forcibly shoved to the back of my mind. It was a problem I didn't want to touch.

"What can we do…" I muttered, scarcely bothering to make it a question.

"I mean…is this just…just _it_, for Danny Phantom?" His eyes were pleading, begging for a solution. "Hero of the town just up and vanishes one day?"

His voice—I couldn't stand painful defeat that chilled the room, the sorrow and fear and worry. I hated it.

"…I don't know…" I admitted, staring into my palms like I expected to burn a hole through them.

The silence drew out between the three of us, suffocating me, my appetite gone.

Tucker raised his head, shaking it a little as if to clear his thoughts. He threw me a partial grin, one so obviously forced, so painfully fake, that it cut through my conscious as he spoke. "Well whatever the case, we-we can find a way through it. Sam and I—and Jazz even—have gotten pretty familiar with the routine of catching ghosts." Tucker shrugged his shoulders like he was shooing away a non-issue, but I only saw his blades jerk upward, unnaturally forceful like an epileptic tick. "Until you're well again, you can rely on us to handle the ghosts."

I smiled at him, working to pull off a grin at least marginally more convincing than his.

Deep down, I could see he was bluffing.

I didn't doubt that he knew his way around an ectogun, or that he was willing to take my place—he and Sam both-,

But in truth they could never last for long, and he knew it. They couldn't handle the ghosts; I wasn't getting better; and he knew it.

They were human.

They were powerless.

And they were helpless against half the ghosts I fought.

Perhaps they could hold out against the box ghost, take him down with my parents equipment—Phantom or no Phantom. Maybe they could give Technus, or Skulker if Tucker's PDA still dictated his actions. That much they could manage. But how long would it last? A week-two weeks, tops—I gave them before someone else, some ghost more powerful, tossed my friends aside like scrap metal.

_Or ripped them to shreds like your poor sandwich._

_(Go away.)_

My parents' weapons were little more than toys to some of the creatures I met, and a few humans attached would mean less than nothing. Vlad wouldn't blink twice at them. The Fright Knight and Undergrowth could slice them—and their ectoguns—in two without a second thought. What would become of them when the next Pariah Dark breaks into the real world? Those three—Sam, Tucker, and Jazz even—could never stand a chance.

_And now,_ I shuddered in my seat, _neither can I…_.

…

The sickening worry cut through me like a rusty knife, day after day, night after sleepless night. Sooner or later, the world would come crashing down in an Armageddon I no longer possessed the skills to stop.

Yet the worry didn't compare to the crushing guilt I felt when I realized Tucker and Sam had been desperately trying to hold to the promise they made over lunch. Neither discussed it with me, neither brought it up, but I could see with my own eyes what it was doing to the school day, everyone and everything dissolved to nothing around me. The world was dead to me save for those two I relied on, tethers to reality. But the two loyal sets of eyes, those that always burned brightly through my haze, became less reliable: there one period and gone the next. Time and time again I was jarred into reality, guilt eating through my heart, at the sight of them slinking into classes late, out of breath, and covered in various knicks and scrapes. My heart dropped at each mumbled excuse, to teacher or to student.

-Forgot our textbooks and had to get them—

-Had to stay behind to talk to the teacher last period—

-No, it's nothing, I just fell down the stairs…That's why my arm's scraped…-

For a few days I tried to manage, tried to fight against the guilt and hurt, tried to hold myself together.

I thought I was managing. A day.

Then two.

Until Wednesday seventh period, I broke.

My mind crumbled, feeling myself rip internally in two, at the sight that met me 10 minutes through the start of the lesson. Teacher, with the back turned to the class while she charted out Spanish verbs on the board, didn't notice the door creak open. Sam slid through the gap, slinking to her seat unnoticed—almost unnoticed—as I followed her form,

late,

again.

My eyes bore into her, taking in everything had had so quickly changed in her.

But it wasn't her messy hair that broke me, not the dead eyes or the dark bags beneath them. Not the sallow skin or the clouded irises.

No.

Instead it was the long-sleeved, red and green shirt—the one with the football ironed on the front—that broke me.

The shirt-my shirt-which I immediately recognized, salvaged from my "reserve."

I had promised to myself the day I hid the bin of mismatched old hand-me-downs, stuffed in the back of the janitor's closet, that _I_ would be the only one to ever need them. I did it as a way to protect my friends, to set a baseline of how far I'd let them interfere before they got hurt. It was a promise, unbreakable, irreversible, meant to keep her—them—safe.

My reserve.

The dusty, tearing, cardboard box, stuffed with old and usually forgotten clothing only served one purpose: to hide what can't be covered after a fight

The clothes, dirty as they already were, were meant as a last ditch method to hide the most severe cuts, the still-bleeding, still oozing wounds that couldn't be explained any other way.

And that red and green one was my favorite.

The one whose green, faded sleeve, blossomed now with a dark, sickly stain running to the red-trim cuffs, hidden amongst the other old and forgotten stains to any untrained eyes.

I watched her take her seat, pulling out her Spanish notebook with only her left hand, the right one resting uselessly, and far too rigidly, on the desk, the dark stain creeping further down its sleeve. She hissed, sucking through her teeth as her arm scraped the metal bar connecting seat to desk, hugging it to her chest for just a moment.

Sam, the one person I knew best in the world, the one who liked her waffles undercooked and her toast over-, the one who always puckered her lips before a lie, and whose laugh always made her eyes sparkle, whenever you were lucky enough to see it—my Sam—the one who meant the world to me, who'd always written, every day of her life, with her right hand, was now scrawling illegible Spanish notes with her left, pencil clenched awkwardly in its grip, as she tried desperately to keep up with the teacher.

And I broke.

She didn't acknowledge me when I stared, tears welling in my eyes, clouding my view of her sallow skin, the bags under her eyes, the dullness of her hair, and the emptiness in her pupils. She saw me—there wasn't any doubt in my mind—but she kept her gaze forward. Like I wasn't here.

I was slipping.

I was failing.

And everyone else had to suffer because of it.

I couldn't bite down the lump in my throat, tears spilling over my eyes as they flickered to the empty desk next to her.

Tucker was still missing.

…

I needed a solution. An actual solution. _Now_.

Before Sam and Tucker killed themselves over me.

Wednesday ended, cold and defeated with my breath misting in the air, and still I had no solution.

Thursday came and went, and I was reduced to nothing. I couldn't talk to Sam and Talker, despite their attempts to help, to convince me to tell them what was wrong. But I'd told them enough, dragged them down enough, and I couldn't look at Sam anymore.

Friday came, overcast and dark.

I didn't deserve their help.

Clouds creeping across the sky as I stood frozen at the curb.

I didn't deserve their worry, not when they were throwing themselves headlong my fights. Risking everything because of me, grasping at situations that so easily could kill them. I didn't deserve _them._

It should have been raining—it should have—but the frigid temperatures forbade that, and fragile little snowflakes floated past my eyes, far too pretty for everything that had happened.

Still Sam and Tucker tried to smile around me, but none of it was real. They tried to laugh, yet the joy never reached their eyes. They tried to tell me everything was alright, but their tone betrayed their lies. I couldn't handle it.

I had to do something. I had to do my part. I had to fight back.

_But how? Phantom is broken beyond repair._

_(That's not important.)_

_You want to actually kill yourself? Well go ahead; be my guest._

_(Please…I just…I have to do something!)_

…

The argument raged in my mind, pounding against my ears as the body I no longer controlled walked me through the steps of the morning. Bus to homeroom to first period.

Suddenly though, I felt myself wrenched back into reality, eyes focused enough to follow the dissipating blue mist clouded my vision as I exhaled. The history room, ours with the ADD heater, was stifling hot today, dispersing the chilled breath in almost an instant. Fear raced in zigzags across my mind, scrambling all coherent thoughts as I pushed myself forward.

Mr. Lancer halted his lecture suddenly, one eyebrow arching as he noticed my hand shooting into the air.

"Yes, Mr. Fenton?"

"May I go to the bathroom, sir?"

Mr. Lancer blinked, taking in my question. "No, Mr. Fenton, this information is vital to the test we're having and I can't very well let you go unless—"

"I meant nurse. I don't feel well. At all." _At least that part wasn't a lie._I mused, as my nerves gripped me in a state of panic.

A sigh issued from the overweight teacher as he motioned for me to go. Yet I couldn't ignore the look in his eyes before he turned back to the board; a kind of suspicion, uncertainty, and—I cringed—deep worry.

I couldn't dwell on it long though, as I practically stumbled out the door, anxiety eating clean through me.

_What am I going to do?_

My footsteps beat against the hallway floor, mind racing as I tore past row after row of lockers. Thick clouds of icy mist guided me through my mad dash, a new one issuing with every couple breaths. They were getting stronger.

_There's no way I can go ghost…_

I rounded the corner, heading for the emergency side exit.

_Maybe it'll just be the box ghost, or someone weak enough to take down with only the thermos._

Calling on the wisp of ghostly energy I possessed in human form, I phased through the door.

_Some formless…_

Down the sidewalk

_Shapeless…_

Around the corner, away from the classroom windows.

_Nameless ghost._

Until I arrived in the shadowed alleyway by the school dumpsters.

The chill that settled over the air betrayed the specter's presence. Shivers ran through my spine as my eyes darted around the hidden alleyway. I wanted so badly to run, to flee and never look back. But I couldn't, for Sam and Tucker's sake. Running no longer became an option, as I felt myself freeze to the spot, suddenly locking gazes with the source of the biting cold.

_Oh God no…_

I gaped, mouth hanging open, my heart sinking to the ground where I stood, as I stared into the glinting red eyes of my enemy. The ghost floated a few feet ahead, arms crossed over his chest, a huge grin spreading over his face as he locked eyes with me.

_Oh God not now…_

The ghost didn't react, even as I readied myself into a battle stance, hoping I could bluff my way out of this. My hands shook as he stared me down, blood draining from my face as tremors wracking my body. I tried desperately to hide them, forcing myself to stay and fight. I knew I'd failed in the effort, my terror obvious to the being floating in front of me, smirking, with vampire-like incisors glinting in his unnatural glow.

"Oh, Daniel, how pleasant it is to see you again."

"What do you want, Plasmius?" But the panic welling up inside me had taken the bite out of my words. _So much for bluffing._

"Oh I suppose curiosity got the better of me." He threw his hands into the air (well, _more_ into the air) palms upturned in a shrug, feigning innocence as he arched both eyebrows. "It would seem the ghost hero of Amity Park Danny Phantom suddenly dropped off the map a little under a week ago." His eyebrows lowered, glowing red eyes boring into me again. His malicious grin tainted his features with a venomous air. "But I'm truly _honored_ he came out just to see me." Vlad dragged out the last line, relishing in the sarcasm that bit through the tense air.

"Is that all?" I shot back, forcing my voice to stay even, mind still commanding me to run. "Well I'm here now, happy? So leave." I yanked my eyes from his, swiveling around on one foot. Back to him, I took one step toward the alley's entrance, hoping desperately that I could hide my racing heartbeat just a bit longer.

But my route of escape was quickly shut off, Plasmius swooping down to face me again. "Oh no dear boy, I can't simply let you leave without an explanation." He floated a few inches closer, making me backpedal, eyes widening. "You see your childish heroics have been actually turned out to be quite helpful in keeping the ghost zone's riffraff out of my hair." He chuckled, pressing closer to me. His presence visibly forced me to wince and I withdrew, now almost stumbling over my own feet. "Lately it seems I've been dealing with far more trash than I usually have to pick up. You see citizens are never too fond of a mayor who lets ghosts run his town, hmm? Though you see I'm _not_ the hero in this game we're playing, Daniel, and it's a pain in my neck when you can't cling to your childish ideals."

"Move, Plasmius." _There's no way I'm explaining anything, and no way in hell I'd be explaining it to_him. Fear tingled down my spine, my legs trembling slightly as I forced my bluff.

"But beside the point, if you've finally turned your back on your town, it does open up quite a few opportunities for me. So tell me," he paused, staring me down, "what has become of the notorious Danny Phantom?"

"Move!"

His grin widened, a cruel spark gleaming in his eyes.

"You could always _make_ me move, Daniel. The young man I know would have gone ghost before our conversation got anywhere _near_ this far." He pushed himself closer, face inches from mine as he relished the moment. "Of course you may have finally realized that one-on-one, you're no match for me."

Malicious joy glinted in his eyes, incisors inches from my face

"Oh but that's never stopped you before," he finished with a relish.

I stared him down, refusing to answer, my façade crumbling as I struggled to maintain the silence.

"Well then…" He sniggered, shutting his eyes for a moment. One gloved hand caught me by the throat before I had a chance to react.

He hoisted me into the air, fingers tightening around my windpipe as my feet dangled uselessly below me. Panic got the better of me, as I jerked my hands to my throat, clawing desperately at his fingers to let go.

Plasmius's expression faltered, a hint of confusion crossing his eyes as he tightened his grip, watching me wrench desperately against his grasp while the darkness encroached on my vision. Blood vessels were crushing in my windpipe, air unable to pass to my starving lungs.

_I'm so dead._

His eyebrows furrowed together after a moment, his arm almost trembling as he attempted to squeeze a reaction out of me. I knew what he was expecting, what he was trying to instigate: He wanted me to change.

Instead he dropped me to the ground, watching me fall to my hands and knees as I struggled to suck in air. My hand closed around my windpipe, acting as an involuntary shield to my bruised skin while I forced my lungs to work. After a short eternity spent in near silence—broken only by my asthmatic gasps-, I choked out a few pained words, burning against my windpipe.

"_Please…"_ I panted, swallowing with difficulty. "…_Please just go…"_

He hung in the air, studying me for a moment.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

I glanced up, watching the confusion wipe clean from his face, replaced with a twisted, evil grin.

"It would seem I've been presented with the prime opportunity to put you in your place." He chuckled to himself for a moment, undampened joy tainting his evil features. Hate curled in the pit of my stomach as I watched him laugh, completely helpless myself. "For whatever reason you _can't_ go ghost. It's just too perfect." A swirling ball of blood-red energy collected in his hand. "This _will_ be fun. And who knows? Maybe I'll be able to beat some proper answers out of you."

The jolt rammed into me full force, never offering me the cache to react.

The blast lifted me from the ground, slamming my head against the concrete wall of the school. I felt a sickly wet substance run down from my skull, blood oozing onto my shirt. Slowly, I pushed myself up, one hand leaning against the cold brick, the other wrapped protectively around my rib cage. I winced slightly, one eye twitching as I forced myself into a standing position. The second shot was already gathering in his hand.

_There's no way I can fight him as a human._

Bloodred ectoplasm swirled in his palm, forming a tight, centralized orb of power.

_I'm dead. Phantom won't stand a chance._

The second shot whizzed past my head, searing the tip of my ear.

_But do I even have a choice?_

I tried to act quickly, the scene around me crawling to a near stop. Nothing short of pure terror soaked my mind as I reached inside for the cool mist at my core.

_Please don't make me do this._

His third shot was nearly charged, radiating with power that could kill.

_BAM!_The transformation hit the same time as Vlad's ecto-blast. The concentrated ectoplasm ramming me, full force, in the chest,

just as the rings swept past my ribcage.

For just a moment, my world exploded in agony.

I felt myself slammed against the wall again, a scream so unholy tearing from my throat that I swear it must have woken the dead. Surely my chest had been blown to pieces, decimated in the blast until nothing remained but the smoking shell of my ribcage. It seemed more than likely that the blast ripped me clean in two, every bit of feeling concentrated on the agony exploding in my chest. My eyes were shut, but I could picture remnants of my flesh and blood splattered across the ground, a gaping hole where my chest once was. But when I cracked my eyes open, slumped against the wall, I was met with a different view. Blood hadn't decorated the ground, no flesh hanging from the roof, yet somehow, the gruesome scene I had imagined was not far off. The ground was clean, true, but the gaping, openly-flayed "Y"-shaped incision that met my gaze was something straight from a horror film. I had never truly seen it, my mind too far gone during the actual autopsy six days ago. Suddenly, in a sickening wave of nausea, I understood the horror twisted on my friends' faces that first day.

Skin had literally been torn back from my ribcage, showing ridges of stark white poking through the angry red of the mutilated flesh surrounding it. The flayed skin seemed to be rotting, black marring the edges of its wrinkled, stagnant folds. The deathly-white ridges of bone poking through looked uneven. I scanned the gruesome sight, biting back nausea as my eyes honed in on the dissymmetry; a few of the ribs on my right side had been sawed off, ending in abrupt, jagged, and splintered cut-offs. I wanted badly to close my eyes, to shut out the world and scream myself raw, but for whatever reason I couldn't tear my gaze away. The scream had died in my throat; sound not even passing my lips as I lay there, helpless, in frozen shock, watching my lungs, my _actual_lungs, expand and shrink in tune to my shuddering breaths. Thinned, glowing ectoplasm seeped out of the gash at an alarming rate, swirls of red mixing freely as it pooled on the cold concrete below.

Somewhere distantly, my mind registered that Plasmius had stopped firing. He hung in the air a moment, his expression unreadable, until, almost in slow motion, he floated to the ground. I could clearly see his face once he made contact with the ground, his mouth gaping, eyes wide, as he took in the same scene I did. He nearly raced to my side, eyes darting across my mutilated form before dropping to his knees, his hands hanging over me, frozen where they were. The smugness that radiated from his every feature had vanished, confusion and disbelief marring the evil look so often gleaming in his gaze. I swear I saw his eyes soften as he transformed back into his human self, still leaning over me in the pool of tainted ectoplasm. The sickly mess of red-green fluid started to seep into his flawlessly clean suit; for some reason he didn't care.

His mouth hung open, eyes still drinking in the gruesome scene. He lowered his hands over my shuddering form, like he wanted to lift me, move me, at least do something. But instead they hung there, at a loss for what they could do.

Slowly though he shut his mouth, visibly swallowing before he found his voice.

"Dear _Lord,_Daniel…what happened to you?"


	12. Still Rotting PS

Chapter 12! And it's another long one that I'm not evil enough to split. It also involves a lot of explanations for what happened, and _why,_ which is always the hardest to write in my opinion. An explanation can sound perfectly reasonable in my head, but once I get it written down I can't tell if it seems crazy or not... Oh well!

But first...is that...one-_onehundred_ reviews I see? One hundred and _six_ in fact! I really can't believe it...I started this fic entirely expecting my "first time shot" to fade into the background with like...8. 10 if I felt like dreaming. But you guys are just incredible and every single review means _so_ much to me; I can't even explain it. You are all amazing for being so supportive *hugs everyone*.

Well anyway, please enjoy! Mild warning for torture.

Reviewers are absolutely loved!

...

...

_The two figures had me strapped to the table, eyes gleaming with opportunity as they examined their catch. I twisted my hands, wrists chafing themselves bloody against the restraints, but to no avail; no amount of struggling loosened their grip. Instead I writhed against their hold, cutting to the bone in a desperate effort to not go through this again. But no, I was stuck, I was trapped, and I knew by the sickening lurch in my stomach what was coming next. Dad slowly pulled his hand into view, dragging along with it a rusty saw, tainted with ectoplasm gleaming with crimson streaks of blood. His grin widened, face falling into the shadows as he crept closer. His expression would have been unreadable if not for the smile, that demented smile, the one that broke through the shadows and consumed my vision. I could feel the blade creeping closer, inches from my neck as the bloodied steel began to hum._

"_No! STOP! Please don't do this!"_

"_Why shouldn't we, ghost? You're not human. You have no right to even exist. It's about time we destroyed that mistake we made 14 years ago."_

"_PLEASE NO! I'M DANNY! I'M YOUR SON! Please don't! Please don't..."_

_Dad paused, eyes deep in thought before he reached his decision. His grin vanished for all of an instant, reforming into a smile far worse than it had been a moment ago, cracking his familiar features with malicious glee, erasing the last bit of the father I'd known. His hand inched closer, saw lowered within a millimeter of my throat._

"_No…_you_are not my son. How could you ever be_my _son again? You're a ghost-"_

Skin chilling as the teeth dug into my flesh

"_You're evil."_

Throat tearing away as the jagged steel raked across my neck.

"_You're_disgusting. _How could we ever accept you?"_

_In the distance, a shrill, contemptible laugh broke over the hum. I wrenched my eyes to the corner, meeting the icy gaze of the blue hazmatted woman, chuckling in a way that sent shivers down my spine._

"You? _Our_son?" _She crossed her arms over her chest, eyes set with certainty. "You aren't my baby boy anymore. You aren't our son. What we're doing here—this is for Danny's sake. The real Danny, not the filthy creature he's turned into."_

"_Please…"_

Blood startled gurgling in my throat.

"…_please…"_

Icy ectoplasm mixed freely with the ghastly red, like water and oil, never quite fusing as it filled my mouth.

"…_.no...pl-…please…"_

_I couldn't plead any more. I couldn't beg any more. All I could do was scream, scream until my voice was raw and my ears rang with the tortured sound_

_At least until the blade ripped clean through my windpipe._

"Daniel!"

My eyes were wrenched open, forcing myself upright quickly enough to make the room spin. I set one hand beneath me, trying to maintain my balance as I raised the other to the back of my head. It came away slightly sticky, dried flecks of blood tainting my fingers. I struggled to remember where I was, mind focused on the splitting headache that pounded on the back of my skull. My heart rate started to slow, wide, panicked eyes losing their terrified spark as I took in the scene before me. The blades were gone, the saw gone, the two venomous torturers gone. Instead I found myself staring at a frilly living room, floral patterns coating every conceivable surface, the entire space tainted with the musty odor of cats.

I slumped back on the cushion—the couch—shutting my eyes with my right arm thrown over them, trying to collect my thoughts.

"…Daniel?"

"…Just a dream…" I muttered, refusing to crack my eyes open. Slowly my breathing returned to normal, mind attempting in vain to shut out the images from the nightmare. My ears were tuned back to reality, pestering me with the information that someone had called my name. I had heard the voice sure enough, the one that wrenched me back into consciousness, but I didn't want to deal with him. Instead I shut my eyes tighter, eyelids twitching in the added effort to keep them closed.

"…Daniel…"

Despite my efforts, instinct and curiosity took over, my eyes opening on their own and trailing to the source of the noise. I blinked, trying to focus my eyes on the figure before me. After a moment they locked on a middle-aged man, his silver hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, steely gray eyes lacking their usual edge. He had one arm placed on the back of the couch, hovering over me, almost protectively I noted, as I pushed myself up to face him.

Confusion coated his features, worry and shock mixing freely on his face as he struggled to find a way to continue. He wanted an explanation, I knew that much. For a moment it filled me with a sense of authority and power, that I knew something he desperately wanted to, that I had something he desired, but a sickening feeling of dread overrode that. I kept silent, determining that he wouldn't get anything from me, not for free.

My mouth was shut, mind focused more on the splitting headache from slamming into the wall than on my billionaire archenemy. I should have been scared, should have tried to run—I know—but I had lost that kind of instinctual motivation a long time ago.

I didn't have the energy to care.

"Daniel I-…" The man started, attempting to make eye contact while I kept my gaze locked on the far wall of the room. "What…what happened?"

"Wouldn't you like to know…" I huffed, arms crossed.

In my mind I could see his eyes squinting, lips puckered in annoyance as he struggled to come up with an answer.

"Your sarcastic teenage wit isn't going to help you out of this situation any sooner," he mocked, trying to turn the situation in his favor. "I have no intent on letting you leave before I get a proper answer, Daniel, and I'm sure you're more than eager to get out—"

"Where are we, anyway!" I shot back, eyes seething into his as I turned to face him again.

Vlad faltered. "I…Some house across the street. I phased us through after you passed out…I thought…figured you…" He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. "In any case, the owner's not home, so it's irrelevant."

"It smells like cats…" I seethed, searching desperately for some reason to justify the anger I felt coursing through my veins. "How's 'Maddie' by the way?"

Vlad glared daggers at me; lips puckering further in annoyance. He never thought it was funny when I brought up his cat, which didn't make sense since she _had_ been my suggestion. Frankly it was usually hilarious to talk about her…not now apparently.

"We could always keep up these childish games, Daniel. I can do this for hours, but you're _not_leaving without a proper explanation."

I turned back on the couch, resting on my right side with my back too him as I placed both hands under my cheek, staring blankly into the wall again. I felt exhausted already, conversation slipping through my grasp as the weight of the situation crushed my spirit.

"And no one's going to turn this town upside-down if _I'm_not home by three o'clock, so I suggest you start talking."

"Of course no one is! You have no family because the woman you loved stomped all over your pathetic little heart! You're bitter and alone."

I didn't get the reaction I was hoping for, admitting to myself that, more than likely, Vlad realized I was trying too hard.

"What. Happened?"

"…Guess if you'd like." I finally offered, not turning to face him. "I won't tell you…"

Plasmius paused, annoyed again. "Well from what I saw, you couldn't have gotten that in any normal ghost fight. I…I can't think of any ghost who would do…_that,_Daniel…" He sighed, shoulders slumping in the picture frame's reflection. "Whoever—whatever—did that to you…they wanted information. And they wanted you to suffer."

I shivered at his last words, tears pricking the corner of my eyes with pent up memories. I bit them back, trying to remain passive-aggressively silent.

"I disagree with the "wanted" me to suffer part" I protested, words slipping past my tongue before I could stop them. "…but otherwise yeah." My voice was weak from disuse…disuse and the bloodcurdling screams that died down once Vlad wrenched me into consciousness. I didn't want to acknowledge it, though; I wasn't going to discuss that dream, the one I'd been having every night.

"Who, Daniel? Who could have done this?"

"Why do you care!" I snapped, voice cracking like a scared little child's. Reluctantly I shifted, keeping Vlad in the corner of my vision. A bit of satisfaction swelled in my stomach as I watched his expression change. At that moment he seemed to notice the concerned and verging-on-caring look that showed on his face, throwing his eyes to the floor as he tried to reestablish his indifferent façade.

"I…well whoever did this was clearly collecting information on ghost hybrids, which puts me at risk of being…" He faltered again, shifting almost uncomfortably. "I could very well be the next target of these people—ghosts—whoever. I'm doing this in my _own_ interests, Daniel, so don't get the wrong idea."

"Trust me, Plasmius, you're safe from them." I muttered, defeated, as I sat straight up. My head dropped into one hand, elbow resting on my knee. "I was just being careless…"

He didn't open his mouth, silently pressuring me to continue. And now, I was in no condition to keep up this fight.

"You'd never be stupid enough…" I finished, another wave of self-loathing running down my spine.

"…What do you mean?"

I paused, refusing to answer. However, as the seconds ticked by, it became harder and harder to remain silent.

"If they _did_ get you though…" I started, acting on the thought that had just run through my mind, "well wouldn't that just be _divine_ punishment." I hesitated, shaking my head at the irony. "If _she_ was the one ripping you open, sawing out your organs, snapping off your ribs, all while you were screaming in agony, begging her to stop…" I faltered, heart dropping at the thought. "No…" I continued weakly. "Not even you…not even you would deserve to be…no one could possibly deserve that."

My body started to shake, a few stressed sobs wrenching from my throat as I covered my face with both hands.

"_Who,_ Daniel?" Vlad pushed, desperate for an answer. "Who is '_she_'?" His tone was off, terror seeping into his voice as he met me at the other side of the couch, trying desperately to look me in the eyes. I remained silent, save for the intermittent gasping as I attempted to control myself.

Silence.

"You don't mean…" Vlad paused, but I refused to break the silence again. "…Dear god she wouldn't…" His voice had already given away the rest of his unfinished question, the horror and disbelief marring his tone, the desperate desire for it to not be true. Despite himself, he placed one hand on my shoulder, eyes losing the intensity they'd shown a moment ago.

_Why?...Why do I have to go through this _again?

Slowly, I nodded my head, palms rocking with its motion. "…Yeah. I do. And trust me, she would."

I pulled my eyes to his face, gaze flickering across his usually arrogant features and smug composure. I followed his eyes, watching his face relax, expression going dead as he processed the information. Steadily, after a moment or two, his eyes changed, horror and disgust twisting his features as the meaning of my words sunk in.

"No…" His head was shaking, trying to deny it. "My _god,_Daniel…I never…never would have…" He stopped, completely at a loss for what he could say. "…You didn't tell them the truth?"

"I tried!" My voice cracked as suppressed anger forced itself forward. "Dear GOD how I tried! But they wouldn't listen! They never would have listened." I paused, steadying my breathing a bit. "And then they…they brought out some new invention…The Fenton Scrambler…that paralyzed everything in my body…I couldn't talk after they hit me with it…I couldn't _breathe…_and afterward…after that…No matter how hard I tried…_tried_ to tell them…all I could do was scream…"

Vlad looked sick, horrified, gleaming eyes misted over with hurt. "Maddie…my Maddie…I can't believe she'd—"

"_Your_ Maddie?" I seethed, tearing my shoulder from his grasp to shoot him the most venomous look I could manage. "How could she possibly be _yours?_ You're sick. You're lonely. You're a freak! She never even lov—" I faltered, eyes dulling again as I lost the energy to continue. "Oh forget it…I don't care anymore…I just. don't. care." I pulled my eyes away from Vlad, anger suddenly dead in my heart.

Vlad regained his composure, authority back in his eyes as he stared at me with…was that pity?

"And now…I'm not even sure if I love them anymore…" I continued, admitting the festering worry that had effectively eaten through my resolve to stay silent. "They're…They were my _parents_. My own god damn parents!" I laughed, voice completely humorless. "Now every day…_every _day I see how worried they are…when I get home, when I refuse to eat dinner with them, when I can't even look them in the eyes. Mom and Dad know something's wrong, something I couldn't hide. And I can see how much it hurts them. But when I remember what they did…how _mercilessly_ they did it…I'm not sure I even care how they feel anymore." I pushed myself from the couch, ignoring the tentative hand Plasmius stuck out in protest as I walked away. Not that it mattered if he stopped me or not, as I only made it to the doorway before I faltered.

"No…I don't think I love them…" I admitted, voice small with tears running down my cheeks. I didn't want to believe it. "And what can I possibly do now?"

…

Disappointment settled in my stomach as I realized how easily Vlad got me to talk. I had been so certain that he'd never get a word from me, but my resolve cracked like an egg, everything spilling from my head whether I wanted it to or not. Even the bit about my reserve, the green and red football shirt, found its way into my story. In an instant I had admitted how trapped and scared I felt, how much I hated myself for letting my friends get hurt.

It was stupid.

It was dangerous.

Vlad could easily have used that information to destroy everything I ever had, but I didn't care.

Partly, perhaps, I told him because I didn't _feel_ like I was talking to Vlad. He couldn't be the same man, not the way he stayed quiet, the way he listened with disgust and worry in his eyes, not the way he passed up the chance to kick me while I was down. He wasn't the Plasmius I knew.

Finally, though, I felt the question that had been nagging in the back of my mind tumble past my lips, desperate for an answer.

"Why…" I started, watching Vlad arch an eyebrow while I continued. "Why did I…_survive_ that? I always thought…always thought I was still human underneath it all…that I _could_ still die." I threw my hands into the air, dead eyes flickering to life with the remembered pain. "Why the hell did I have to live through it?"

Vlad flinched a bit at the last part of my question, but his eyes were set, an answer formulating in his mind. "No…You are not mistaken, Daniel. You and I, as half-ghosts, can still die…just as easily as a human in most situations, for all intents and purposes." He shook his head for a moment, "We're by no means immortal. Ghost form or not, our bodies are still essentially human…" He paused, thinking over his answer. "However, there is one key difference…"

I raised my tear streaked eyes to him while he continued, trying to wipe my cheeks with the sleeve of my ectoplasm-stained shirt.

"Ghost or human, we require all of our internal organs to function in order to survive. If your parents had damaged one of them beyond repair, there is little doubt you _would_ have died." He paused, eyes shifting around uncomfortably for a moment. "I'm sure you saw that during our fight…that our ghost halves still have the same internal…_machinery_ as our human forms. But our ghost forms deviate in that they do not require a circulatory system, you must have realized before." He started pacing, debating whether to turn and face me or not. "_Ectoplasm_ takes over the role of our blood and heart, as it possesses the unique ability to diffuse substances, along with itself, through any material, solid or otherwise, at a rate far faster than your bloodstream. Nutrients and oxygen travel through our body almost instantly with the aid of ectoplasm, which explains why our ghost forms almost never tire. Of course our bodies have trouble keeping the two entirely separate, with bits of human blood tainting our ectoplasm and vice versa. Ectoplasm also has amazingly high regenerative abilities, as most ghosts can regenerate instantly, and our bodies, with ectoplasm infused into the DNA, can usually heal quickly."

"Your point?" I pressed, feeling a bit irritated for not following.

"My _point_, Daniel, is that the key to _how_ you survived, and _why_you won't heal, is centered around the ectoplasm coursing through your ghost form. Any human would have died on that table within an hour at most due to substantial blood loss, but ectoplasm is far more versatile, requiring substantially less to maintain human functions, since it immediately diffuses oxygen to any part of the body. Eventually you _would _have died when the ectoplasm supply became too low and your human organs shut down, but for the time you were down there, your body held out."

"And the reason I won't heal?" I demanded, arching an eyebrow as my arms crossed my chest.

"There are likely two reasons for that." Vlad bit his lip, contemplating how to continue. "First of all, the sheer _amount_ of ectoplasm you lost would slow your healing."

"And the second?"

"Ghosts are composed of two…classes of ectoplasm" Plasmius continued, halting in the middle of the room. "Active ectoplasm is the one you're most familiar with, which is used to create ecto-blasts, fuel flight, and activate any of your abilities." He paused again, examining my face to see if I'd followed. "Then there is stable ectoplasm, which literally composes the ghost itself. If the stable ectoplasm of a ghost is destroyed or used up, a rare situation but possible, the ghost essentially 'dies'"—he paused—"but it can almost never happen."

"And why's that?"

"Because active ectoplasm can immediately convert itself into stable ectoplasm. When a ghost is injured, active energy instantly reforms the injured part, transforming into stable energy in the process. It doesn't work in exactly the same manner for us, seeing as human cells cannot be instantly recreated, but it does vastly increase our ability to heal." He stopped again, eyes examining me up and down as if he were trying to prove whatever theory he had. "Much of your stable ectoplasm was damaged in the experiment, coupled with the fact that you lost a substantial amount of both stable and active ectoplasm, it would make sense that the healing is delayed."

I opened my mouth to say something, but Vlad cut me off, continuing.

"—But, six days is _far_ too long for no healing to have taken place." He started chewing on his lip, eyes focused on the far wall. "Most of your active ectoplasm should have regenerated by now, but instead your flesh seemed to be _rotting._The healing process hasn't just been slowed; it's been stopped all together…That means something is inhibiting your ectoplasm, or poisoning it beyond use, to the point where your ghost half is still dying."

"…You're talking about the Scrambler…" I finished, catching on with a shiver.

"Exactly. You said the equipment your parents used had some sort of chemical coating, right? Most likely it kept you from phasing through it, which could only be accomplished by destroying or poisoning your active ectoplasm…the same goes for the Scrambler." Eventually his eyes locked in on mine, radiating with a defeated empathy that should only be reserved for the terminally ill. "One or the other, or even a combination of the two, has decimated your ectoplasm and completely erased your powers."

"That's not true!" I protested, hoping to find a way to disprove his theory. "In human form I can still use most of my powers, not with the same strength obviously, but they're still—"

Vlad cut me off, raising a hand to silence me. "That's just it: in _human_form. And it seems your human body has separated itself from the ghost half. Under normal circumstances the two are connected and minor injuries transfer, correct?"

I nodded my head silently.

"But this time your two halves have essentially split from the other, more than likely as a last-ditch self-defense mechanism. Your human form, which in theory should be able to help heal ghostly injuries, in time, with normal cell division, has abandoned the ghost half to rot. Like I said, that kind of damage would kill a human, so shutting out your ghost half was a precaution to save your human self. And since none of your wounds transferred, that means your ectoplasm hasn't either. Whatever little bit of active energy you possess in human form is separate, and more importantly safe."

But his tone was wrong, like he was trying to hide something worse I hadn't yet realized.

"And as for my ghost half…?"

Vlad sighed, suddenly nervous to continue.

"Without the ectoplasm to repair it, your ghost half _will_ continue to rot. And without a cure…" He shook his head. "Once the rotting hits vital organs, ghost form or otherwise, your body will die."

My heart sunk, not wanting him to finish.

"Ghost and human…you won't survive."

...

**(A/N) The concept of stable ectoplasm and active ecoplasm belongs to Cordria and her "Illuminations" series. Since this was a Cordria one-shot to start, I thought it seemed suitable to use it, however I did tweak it just a bit.**


	13. Suffocation PR l PS

Chapter 13 people! Again, it's a bit on the short side, but inspiration struck for what I wanted to happen next. And yes, it starts off IN THE PRESENT! Please please enjoy! And all you people who've reviewed so far are really truly unbelievably incredible!

**Warning **for graphic and disturbing imagery**.**

Reviewers are absolutely loved!

...

...

I watched the front door swing open, eyes drinking in the two worried, sleep deprived teens who now stood at the entrance. Sam and Tucker's scared, worn expressions faltered with annoyance as the silver haired man opened the door for them. He had hovered by the door ever since he arrived a few minutes prior, never quite comfortable enough to take a seat. He had his hand around the knob before I could react, erasing any opportunity to answer it myself. Despite myself, and the annoyance that crossed my own features, I hadn't objected.

Both teens glared at him for a moment as they came inside, decidedly looking past him after a moment, like he wasn't even there. Vlad didn't react, merely shutting the door behind them as he looked nervously from chair to couch. Instead though, my eyes followed the two new guests, flinching a bit at the sourness still painted on their faces. They had never quite gotten used to the idea of Vlad being helpful, clinging to the notion that, deep down, he hadn't "changed", that he'd done too much to deserve any kind of trust. But I didn't bother listening when they protested, feeling that I was in no position to lose Vlad. Beggars can't afford to be choosers, after all, and in my opinion, Vlad was about the most I could get for begging. Deep down I think I knew he had an honest desire to help, whether Sam and Tucker could accept that or not, and if I was wrong…well I didn't want to think about that.

Immediately Sam and Tucker forgot their disgust as both sets of eyes honed in on me, slumped over on the chair in the far corner of the room, Jazz sitting on its arm as she tried to comfort me. Their expressions softened, eyebrows tilting as their mouths hung open the slightest bit. Their footsteps were muffled against the carpeted flooring, ignoring both my parents and Vlad as they made their way to me.

Sam, as usual, was first at my side, pulling me into a tight hug I felt I desperately needed. I wrapped my arms around her in return, frantic heart calming a bit as I inhaled the sweet scent of her strawberry shampoo. I could feel the wetness against her cheek as she held her face to mine, guilt and comfort warring in my head as I debated whether or not I wanted her to let go. I decided against it, letting her keep her arms around me in the silence.

"I'm sorry…" She muttered, her voice soft and full of worry.

"Don't be…" I offered in return, forgetting for just a moment the reason I was trapped in this hell. Hidden in her embrace, if only for a moment, I could believe that none of this had actually happened.

Eventually she broke away, freeing my gaze as I caught sight of Plasmius still standing by the front door, hesitating. After a moment of thinking, however, he slunk over to the couch, taking a seat next to my parents. All the while he threw worried glances in my direction, unnaturally stiff as he placed both hands on his knees. It should have been funny, seeing how clearly uncomfortable he looked, not quite belonging at my side and certainly not near my parents anymore.

It should have been funny, but it wasn't.

He pushed a hand out in Mom's direction, tentatively hovering near her trembling shoulder. A little wave of anger ran through my spine at the gesture, but it subsided as he pulled his hand back, watching her shrink away, defeat evident in his eyes. It's not like he hadn't tried that move before, hadn't tried to take her while she was down, but this was…different. Nothing in his face betrayed his usual deceit. He wasn't flirting or teasing or trying to "win her affection" as he always had. It would seem, if only for the moment, he'd outgrown that. Instead his face only showed worry, confusion, and a desire to offer comfort to a longtime friend. I didn't see Vlad anymore, I just saw a man searching desperately for anyway to be of use to someone he loved. For the time being, I could see the same honest care that had shown in his future self's tired eyes. Part of me hoped Sam and Tucker were seeing it too.

Mind focusing in on my thoughts, I almost scoffed at the irony, at the sheer backwardness of the situation. In truth I cared far more for Vlad at the moment than I did for either of my parents.

For whatever reason, I couldn't dwell on it for long, mind wrenched back to the actual situation, the reason why Vlad was here, to reality. Dear god how I hated reality. I could suddenly feel the tension crush whatever satisfaction I had of seeing Vlad act like a human. We sat there in silence, though, no one able to speak, no one able to look my parents in the eyes. Even when I glanced in their direction, I could see both of them were still clearly out of it, not willing to make eye contact or even acknowledge where they were. It would be impossible to start.

Suddenly, a nagging question broke through my mind, working, if anything, as another way to stall the inevitable.

"I kind of want to know…" I started uncomfortably, every pair of eyes in the room immediately darting to me, "What happened to Dr. Auricular after…well after I…"

My gaze flickered between both parents, but neither said a word, eyes turning back to the floor. Instead Jazz made a soft noise from beside me.

"Actually, they uh…sent him home." Jazz started, almost nervously.

I cocked an eyebrow, raising it in question until she continued.

"The therapist's office…That was the first place I went after…well after you didn't come back." She hesitated, shaking the worry that no doubt flashed through her mind. "They said he wasn't there and that—how'd they put it?—'The stress of his work was getting to him and he needed a day off.'" She smiled sheepishly, avoiding my gaze. "I had to press his secretary for details, but apparently he had come flying out of his office screaming that one of his patients transformed into a ghost and phased into the wall…They uh…didn't exactly believe him and decided to send him home to collect his thoughts."

I chuckled a little bit at the story, no humor in my tone, but desperately hoping to lighten the mood that was eating into my chest. Suddenly the situation felt heavier, physically hurting as I tried to keep my breathing steady. I sat through the silence, pained breaths rasping in my chest as I struggled to find something to say. But options were dying out quickly, as my mind struggled to come up with anything to avoid discussing the truth. The second hand, clear as a bell in the silence, ticked through the tension, pressing me further and further until I admitted that there was no point in stalling any longer. This was happening, one way or another.

"Mom…Dad…" I started, voice no more than a whisper as I watched both sets of eyes flicker up to me, surprise coating their glassy surface. "I don't know…I mean I didn't—never meant to—"

My words died in my throat, a few sudden sputtering coughs wracking my body. After a moment they subsided, pained breathing searing against my lungs as I struggled to maintain the rise and fall of my chest.

"…meant to—" Pained coughing, louder and more forceful than before, tore through my chest, air scarcely passing into my lungs as my body doubled over. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz wrapped their arms around me in concern, patting my back to help the fit pass.

But something was wrong, terrifyingly wrong. The coughing ended abruptly, physically impossible to continue, air slipping through my grasp, no matter how hard I forced the breath past my lips. I was breathing with a strip of masking tape wrapped tightly around my mouth—I had to be—desperate, forceful gasps never reaching my lungs. I hugged both arms painfully around my midsection, ears suddenly tuned to a blood chilling whistling that issued from my chest which each asthmatic rasp.

"…Danny?...Danny?" The three around me jumped into action, Vlad at my side a few moments later. Even my parents, from the corner of my eye, had pulled themselves off the couch, hovering, still confused, in my periphery.

I was trembling on the floor, unable to breathe, with both arms hugging my searing, suffocating chest. I couldn't think; I couldn't act, blind terror seizing every muscle in my body as the world started to fade. Through my shock, one of them managed to wrench my shirt over my head, a last ditch effort when I refused to answer their terrified pleas. The person, Sam by the sound of it, stumbled backwards with a gasp as she saw my uncovered chest.

I don't want to know…

I glanced down, trying to fight against the agony that threatened to consume me. My eyes went wide, watching little rings sputter and die around my rib cage, reforming then dissipating with a sad little spark. But their source became clear within a second's glance. Like a leak in a dam, the glowing, peeling flesh near my right side was giving way to a frightfully black lung, its surface marred by the slightest tear, air whistling through the gap. The rotting folds of skin covering my too bony chest fluttered in tune to each rasp, whistling as air escaped back to the outside world.

"What's happening to him?" Jazz squeaked, terror marring her tearstained sobs.

Vlad glanced to her, surprise coating his features, immediately throwing his gaze back to me. "You didn't tell them?"

Trying to hold my breath, eyes suddenly shut in agony, I shook my head weakly. The burning pain became too much; I wanted to shout; I wanted to cry until my voice was raw, but my silent screams couldn't find their way past my throat.

"He's rotting," Vlad stated, authority back in his voice as he hoisted me from the floor. "We need to do something. Now!"

I watched as the three scared children followed at his heels, tears streaking down their faces while they witnessed me suffocate before their eyes. With a slight twinge of surprise, my eyes locked in on the two lost puppies following behind them, tracing the teenagers' footsteps as I was rushed to the lab.

…

_(past)_

_"won't…survive?"_ I repeated, tone dead as my mind fell short of comprehension.

Won't survive…that means I'll die? I'll die anyway?...

"Well…if nothing is done in time, it's safe to say you won't survive…indefinitely." Vlad kept his voice exceedingly gentle, meeting me on the other side of the musty room. The eyes that bore into mine were softer even than his tone, one arm wrapping around my shoulder. I didn't care enough to shrug it off.

A hundred different questions swelled in my mind, none making it to my lips as I stood there, delirious with shock.

"Ghost flesh won't rot nearly as quickly as a human's," Vlad started, like he was trying to offer me some sort of comfort. "In fact, if not for the human aspect to your ghost form, it likely wouldn't rot at all, rather just remain permanently damaged." He looked into my dead eyes, pupils flickering as he searched for some spark of life that had long since faded. "But like I said, your body in ghost form maintains itself essentially like a human, relies on the same functions as a human, and would die like a human under most circumstances. Phantom or Fenton, you're still one being. Your forms are able to barricade themselves against the other, even to the point where they can physically separate, like if you were to phase through your parent's dream catcher, but neither can't completely dissociate from the other." He hesitated, searching desperately for any reaction from me, any sign that I understood what he had said. Instead I just stood there, face blank as he sighed, continuing. "The point I'm trying to make is that if one form perishes…the other will too." He stopped, worry etching in his eyes as I refused to react. "Due to the slowed rate of the decay, your body may be able to hold out on its own for weeks to follow, months even, which…which could be plenty of time to discover a kind of…treatment."

"You mean there isn't one?" I asked weakly, the protest dying with my voice as I responded for the first time.

Vlad looked away uncomfortably, eyebrows arched in sympathy. "No, Daniel…none that I know of. What's happened to you…it can only happen to someone who relies on both a human and ghost form. It's not like there's anyone who's ever needed a cure…" He stopped, like he was trying to tiptoe around the matter, already tuned to the fact that I had shut down. "Even now this is just a…hypothesis, and yet there's no other possibl—"

_"So I survived that hellish torture just to die of it a few miserable weeks later! Wonderful_!" I snapped, eyes burning as anger seethed through my system, my blank stupor crumbling with the torrent of boiling rage.

_Why me? Why is it always me?_

Vlad took a step back, eyes slightly hurt as he examined my face. "No one ever said you were going to die, Daniel. If you make absolutely no effort to find a treatment and just wallow in self pity work weeks on end, then yes, you'll die. But the cure could very easily be a simple one. An ectoplasm transplant may not be far fr-"

"And how the hell do I go about doing that?" I fumed, pushing myself up so I was level with Vlad, staring him down, furious that his eyes refused to seethe back. "What am I supposed to do? Walk up to my parents and ask, 'Hey, remember that ghost boy experiment a little under a week ago? Well funny story, _that was me!_ Anyway now I'm dying from your poisoned lab equipment and I was hoping you could give me a transplant, okay?'" I bit my lower lip, incisors breaking the skin as I unloaded all my hate and frustration on Vlad in one venomous glare. A part of my mind nagged that I was being unreasonable, that Vlad has trying to help, but I didn't care.

He faltered for a moment.

"Well you needn't necessarily ask your parents…"

"Who, then?" I demanded, pushing myself further forward.

He stopped again, swallowing as he ran out of options in his mind.

"…Well, okay maybe there isn't anyone else knowledgeable enough," he admitted, voice huffing with the first signs of annoyance he allowed to show. "But is this secret of yours really worth dying over?" He offered back, tone even again, not angry, not annoyed, instead his words were steady, cold logic fueling his composure.

I turned away from him, stalking toward the door, my eyes still burning with murder. "In all honesty…I don't even know anymore…"


	14. Wrong PS

Chapter 14! Late update, I know, and I'm really sorry. But this chapter specifically took a lot of tinkering, and if it makes things any better, it's the longest chapter yet. So please please enjoy! Much of this chapter I've been toying with in mind mind since the start of the story, and I'm glad to see it finally completed.

Reviewers are loved!

...

...

I stopped, silent, arms folded as Vlad struggled for a way to answer me.

"Daniel…you can't be—" But he was cut off midsentence, a seeping chill filling the room. I shivered, watching in horror as a misty cloud of ice condensed in the air, riding my breath. Vlad, too, hesitated, his own red-tainted cloud signaling him to the same danger.

Hopeless dread filled my body, sucking the life from my eyes. Numbly I knelt by the couch, fishing through the backpack Vlad had propped by its arm. My hands dug past binders and books until they made contact with the biting chill of the Fenton thermos. I wrenched it from the bag, feeling too sick to even look at it. Forcing myself upwards, I could literally feel the room spin as my legs carried me to the front door.

"Daniel! What on earth are you—" Vlad started, eyes narrowing in a scowl.

"I'm taking down that damn ghost!" I shot back, not willing to face him as I struggled to vent my anger. "Sam and Tucker have done enough. I told you I'm not letting them get themselves killed over this! Especially if I'm not living through it anyway!" Venom dripped off my scathing words, doorknob refusing to budge as I twisted and tugged at the bolted metal under my grasp.

In an instant the Fenton Thermos had been wrenched from my fingers, the indignant cry halted in my throat as Vlad grabbed me by the shoulders, spinning me to face him.

"There's a difference between protecting your friends and committing suicide, Daniel!" He spat, finally letting a bit of his anger show before he softened ever so slightly. "Get back to class…" he sighed, eyes falling to the ground as he released me from his grasp. "I'm more capable of handling this than you are."

I blanched, mouth hanging open as the meaning of his words seeped in. In an instant my anger was gone, slipping from my grasp as shock took its place. "You mean you're…_helping?_…" I scoffed, breath leaving my lungs in a sarcastic huff. "Since when does Vlad Plasmius help people?"

"Oh give it a rest, Daniel! It's not that I enjoy helping you." He growled, pushing me away from the door as he phased his hand through it, fiddling with the lock.

After a moment the bolt clicked, creaking gently as Vlad opened the door. But he paused halfway out the entrance, sighing again, before turning face me with eyes that had lost their poisonous edge. "But inconvenient as it may be, it's still preferable to being responsible for your death."

I looked away, unsure if I should be insulted or grateful. Honestly I didn't have the energy to decide, mind dangerously close to shutting down. Thinking was becoming more and more difficult, brain fizzling out as my expression died, eyes wandering around the room. Eventually they settled on the pink, lily-shaped clock hanging in the corner. I watched the second hand ftrace over the decorative numbers, until my eyes finally settling on the two 'stamens' overlapping each other, the minute and hour hands, creatively designed to fit the lily decor. For a moment I struggled to read the time, until the cogs started turning in my mind.

_Minute hand on the 10 means it…_

My heart dropped, eyes widening in shock.

"The hell!" I choked, whipping back to Vlad. "How long was I out?" Panic seeped into my words as I did the math.

_An hour…two hours…two and a half._

My heart sunk, the perfectly aligned clock hands reading 10:50.

"Damn it…" I cursed, scrambling to shove my displaced books back in my bag, despite my sore limbs and pounding headache. I swayed dangerously as I struggled to hoist the bag over my shoulder without stumbling, the room tilting beneath my feet.

"Daniel, where are you-?"

"English starts in 15 minutes," I snapped, frantically trying to shove past him. "I left class this morning at 8:20."

He didn't budge, fury building as he didn't catch on. "That was still during Lancer's history class! He _knows_ I was there today, and that I never came back! If I don't show up in English…" I tried darting past Vlad, not bothering to finish my sentence, but he stuck his arm out, halting me in my tracks. "You don't understand Lancer _can't _know I've been gone this long! Please…please just move."

Vlad stared at me, deep in thought as he decided whether or not to let me pass.

_I don't have time for this!_

Frustration mounting, I phased through his outstretched arm, ignoring the chilling thoughts that power now entailed.

_Won't survive._

My archenemy didn't bother to stop me, surprise at my sudden disappearance quickly melting to, if anything, disappointment. Instead he dropped his eyes to his palm, reluctantly turning the thermos in his hand as he charted out his plan of action. From the corner of my eye I saw black rings split around his waist, his dark gloved hand shutting and locking the door with a click as I stumbled across the yard.

It didn't even occur to me to thank him.

…

_I'm so dead._

Spasms of pain sped through my body in protest as I raced through the school yard.

_I can't be late for English, not with Lancer._

I struggled to wipe my face of the worry eating through me, shoving Plasmius's horrifying information, as well as the imminent ghost attack, to the back of my mind.

Blind running led me instinctually to the boy's bathroom on the far east side of the school, my mind to far gone to even notice. I didn't bother to look around before I phased myself through the wall of the empty room, caution to the wind as my feet carried me instead of my thoughts. I dissipated the energy once inside, my ghostly tingle leaving as I solidified, glancing around the room. This bathroom was certainly by no means the most pleasant one. It was dark in the corners, musty, with paint peeling from the stalls. One light sputtered weakly overhead, the other four fluorescent panels far too bright in juxtaposition. They cast a sickly glow over the room, unnaturally paling everything in their confines, yet their pallid beams never quite reached the edges of the room that remained cloaked in darkness. No one used this bathroom anymore, not for years, serving only periodically as a place to smoke, but even the burnouts found it too decrepit and depressing to stay for long. For me, however, it was the ideal wash-up zone after a fight, and right next to the janitor's closet that held my reserve.

I worked my way to the nearest sink, avoiding the cracked mirror as I cranked the spigot to full power. The icy jet of water sent a few stray drops ricocheting out of the basin, most of the torrent finding its way down the rusting drain. The pipes whined in protest against the pressure, creaking like they may give out any second. I ignored them, though, and dunked my head under the flow, forehead scraping the chipping porcelain as I massaged the back of my skull. My fingers worked through the sticky mess, removing most of the dried blood that glued my raven spikes in odd angles, grateful for the cold that dulled the pounding in my head. Despite the pleasant chill that numbed my skin, I couldn't help but feel sick at the sight of the crystal clear water suddenly dying itself crimson red, its purity marred by the gruesome sheen. After a few moments I gave up, hand spinning the tap in the opposite direction, quickly shutting off the water with a rusty squeak. My clean hair dripped into the sink, basin emptying of the tainted liquid as I tried to gently shake my head dry. I remained deliberately careful to not face the mirror, to not know how bad I looked. However, when I shook the last few drops from my hair, phasing intangible for a split second to completely dry my damp head, my eyes shot to the glass in mutiny.

I literally felt my heart hit the ground.

My eyes went wide, time slowing as I examined the reflection. I didn't recognize the boy looking back at me, his hopeless, haunted stare making me want to shrink away, to run and never face the tortured look again. But instead my eyes lingered, taking in everything I never wanted to see.

My eyes.

They were by far the worst, shivers actually running down the spine as I met my own gaze. _My _eyes…But they couldn't be...It wasn't possible. My icy blue eyes, my tired and, more often than not, dulled eyes, just slightly dim from constant late night fighting, had completely vanished, replaced by something else.

Something terrifying.

They were scary, more chilling than the haunted looks that started to cloud Sam and Tucker's once-bright gazes. Guilt always swelled in my stomach when I met their eyes, seeing them worn beyond their years. A few sleepless days of worry and fighting had drained their spirit, until their eyes were glazed, light snuffing to smoky remnants. And yet, even then, you could clearly see _Sam_ in those beautiful irises, buried a little deeper, but obviously there. Tucker was still Tucker behind his tired glasses.

But my eyes…they were different.

They were empty.

They were gone.

They were _dead_.

No matter how hard I stared into their icy blue surface, I couldn't see the slightest hint of myself, the tiniest spark of life that used to simmer in their depths. Nothing but pain broke through the glassy look, completely and utterly defeated. I raised a bony hand to the mirror, taking in the sallow, sickly, and malnourished look to my skin. Veins pressed themselves against my skin, highlighting the fact that I hadn't eaten in days, starvation preferable to the forced conversations over the kitchen table. Breakfast and dinner had become all but impossible with my parents around, and usually I felt too sick by lunch to touch whatever Jazz had slipped lovingly into my bag. Against the gaunt skin, both eyes literally looked bruised underneath, nasty purple and near-black splotches underlying the death that radiated from my pupils. I hadn't slept once since the incident, every moment of peace ripped violently from my grasp due to the same gruesome nightmare. Even my hair was faded, its black sheen gone, falling much flatter than it used to. The top could scarcely reflect the light above, the room's fluorescent glow catching the grayish tint that had seeped into the roots.

Beyond it all, however, my eyes locked in on a sight that made me visibly cringe. I pulled my hand from the glass, placing my shaking fingers gently to my throat, swallowing at my reflection. Along the left side of my neck—fingers tracing the outline—were four, sickly distinct bruises. They welled against my skin, blotchy, angry blood-red dominating over the unnatural pallor surrounding them, the ghost of Plasmius's fingers tattooed by the crushed blood vessels beneath the surface. The four bruises converged toward my windpipe, my eyes following the thick, solid line wrapped clearly around my trachea. My right side gave way to one, throbbing mark that had bruised far worse than the wispier other four. I left the hand hovering over my throat, pulling away from the bruising like some contagious disease, momentarily lost as my dead eyes traced the outline of Plasmius's hand, neck marred with the obvious signs of strangulation.

_What a wreck you are…_

…

A few tears slipped down my cheeks, eyes finally wrenching themselves from the mirror, legs carrying me through the wall. I found myself standing in the pitch black janitor's closet, instinctually conjuring a ball of acid-green energy in my palm as I made my way through the dusty cobwebs lodged in back. I knelt by the box in the corner, numbly sifting through it with my free hand. Piece after piece, shirt after shirt, was roughly pushed aside, none of the bloodstained articles able to cover the bruise. V necks and longsleeved shirts all tossed to the ground, musty pairs of forgotten khakis and spare jeans not even drawing my attention, my hand eventually scraped the bottom of the box, heart dropping as my options dissipated before my eyes.

My hand hovered in the box, vain hope keeping it from scraping the empty bottom again, until I lowered it to my side in crushing defeat. There was no other way to explain the strangled bruises running clean across my neck, not to Mr. Lancer, and certainly not to my parents. Despite the disappointment and terror eating through me, a nagging thought broke through the haze. I _knew_ there was something with a neckline high enough, one disgusting ugly sweater, that had been included only because it chafed horribly against the jaw bone. It had been Jazz's, a gift from Dad the one year Mom let him pick out his own Christmas presents for the family. Its color matched my dad's suit perfectly—more than likely why he chose it—but the sweater had a hetergenous mix of pus yellows and sickly oranges that zigzagged across its front and back, its incongruity highlighted by the snags and pulls that unwove bits of the wool. It was, all around, the ugliest, most repulsively eye-popping thing any of us had ever laid eyes on. And somehow, Jazz managed to dump it on me with the guise of "being helpful and contributing" when Sam and Tucker started offering up their worn out clothing. Reluctantly, and most likely because it was the only shirt with a proper neckline, I took it off her hands.

Dad still brings it up from time to time.

Fingers going numb as my mind worked to remember, I pulled the box from the wall, its bottom dragging dusty streaks across the floor as it gave way to a lumpy orange mass (more of a pale and sickly green in this light) shoved haphazardly behind the bin. My single free hand picked it up, the sweater's wrinkling well beyond help, obvious even as it folded limply on itself. For the most part I didn't care, simply glad I found it. Dissipating the light, I shoved it roughly over my head, yanking the scratchy neckline high enough to scrape my jaw bone before I made a mad dash for Lancer's room.

…

My head was splitting in half, pounding in tune to my frantic footsteps as I raced down the hall, nearly clipping corners as my English room came into view. Breath coming in long ragged gasps, I paused outside the door, counting the seconds in my head until the bell sounded, shrill and ear piercing, overhead. Students filed from the classrooms, chatting with their friends or racing to meet up with others, excited with the "it's Friday" air. Star and Paulina nearly pushed me over, caught in some heated debate over the ranking of cutest boys in school. (Star was arguing that Phantom wasn't an option, certainly not for the top spot, since he didn't even go to school.)

Bits of their conversation reached me as they stopped by the door, stalling as long as possible before Mr. Lancer would demand they come inside. I was only feet away, but either too invisible to the popular crowd for them to notice, or too unimportant to even acknowledge. I backed up a bit, trying to keep myself as "unnoticeable" as possible while I forced my breathing to return to normal.

"I don't know…" The Latino whined, arms crossing her chest as worry arched in her eyebrows. "You think he would have come to save me at least once this week." She broke one hand free, running it through her shiny hair that danced in response, eyelids fluttering as she narrowed her gaze. "He always comes to save _me."_

Star glared at her friend, annoyed. "Well it doesn't matter; he's not on the list. He's not even _here _anymore, like,no one's seen him in forever and ghosts just keep attacking. He totally ditched us." And she stalked into the room.

"You're wrong; he's just biding his time to make a big appearance and sweep me away. I can _feel_ it." Paulina cooed dreamily, floating in behind Star with her palms clasped together.

Reluctantly I followed behind them, breathing almost normal now, sweater chafing against my aching skin.

…

My first glance around the room confirmed my fears; Sam and Tucker were missing, no doubt locked in battle with the ghost Plasmius (hopefully) was trying to ward off as well.

_They're going to want one hell of an explanation after this one. _My mind taunted. I ignored it, taking my seat in back as I tried to push the world out of my mind. It almost worked, the sheer weight of everything that happened, along with the uncomfortable heat of the sweater, let everything dissipate into a humid blur.

It almost worked, if only for a few minutes.

"Mr. Fenton!" Lancer called, my head bolting upright at the address. He faltered, looking me in the eyes before his gaze dropped a few inches, decidedly looking at the sweater. I tugged at the neckline, making sure it was high enough.

"Y-yes?"

"Would you care to answer?"

I blinked, confusing eating into my eyes. "I-I'm sorry, what was the question?"

Lancer sighed, eyebrows narrowing in annoyance. "How is the traveler's path related to life in 'The Road Not Taken'?"

"…I don't know."

"Ms. Grey just gave us an excellent explanation. Were you listening when she spoke?"

"…No." I answered truthfully.

"Have you even read the poem?" Something else was eating into Lancer's expression, something I couldn't place.

"No."

He sighed as I dropped my gaze to the floor, giving up on me as he turned the page of the booklet in his hand. His footsteps retreated across the room, pausing for a moment. "May I speak to you after class?"

I nodded my head, eyes glued to the floor as I felt cold dread wash through my body.

…

The bell rang too soon afterward, too suddenly to let me devise a plan of escape. Lancer seemed to be predicting my moves, standing over my desk before I had the opportunity to slip out of the classroom. He motioned me to follow him to the desk, room swirling in frightfully sharp angles as I pulled myself up. The ground shifted under me, forcing me to clench both hands tightly around my desk, knees trembling, as I tried to remain upright. I was sweating, shivering, head pounding to the point where it might split clean in two.

"Mr. Fenton?" Lancer asked, tone far gentler now that the classroom was empty. I looked up, meeting his worried look. Whatever he had to say to me, I doubted I could find a reasonable lie out of it. Despite the strong wave of nausea that clenched my stomach from the motion, I forced myself to stand straight. Unsteady feet carried me to his desk, tiled floor tipping dangerously underneath. Lancer surveyed me as I approached, the last person in the room, easily picking up on my imbalance. His eyebrows arched further, concern eating up his features, but for whatever reason he didn't speak.

His eyes stayed locked on mine, the soulless glassy surfaces that scared even me, until his gaze dropped to the sweater. His expression changed slightly, eyebrows furrowing the tiniest bit as he took in the scruffy, ugly, dirty piece that was wrinkled well beyond help. Again, though, he didn't question it, even when I saw the confusion churning in his mind. Defeated, sighing slightly, he pulled his eyes back to mine. I nearly winced at the look in them, shock running down my spine as his eyes started burning into mine. They weren't angry as I was so certain they would be, not simmering that I'd skipped class; not annoyed that I hadn't finished my homework, or that my essay wasn't complete, or that I'd lost my English book (in truth just kicked under my bed). Instead his eyes were exceedingly soft, a stark contrast to the usually so rigid teacher I thought I knew. His face creased with concern, honest worry radiating off his composure. In an instant my far-removed teacher vanished, replaced with a man I hardly recognized. It took a moment for my mind to process that Lancer actually seemed to…care.

His eyes dropped to the black suitcase resting by his feet, hands fishing out a three-hole-punch paper from its depths. He placed it gently on the desk, turning it around before he slid it to my side. "Do you know what this is?" He asked gently.

I dropped my gaze to the paper, eyes locking on the burning red 17% that had been circled at the top. "My test…"

"And is there a reason all the answers are blank?"

"Not blank," I almost protested, far too worn to actually argue. "The multiple choice I—"

"—answered 'A B C D' in pattern, I know." He finished for me. For a second he seemed annoyed, but the look vanished as he made eye contact, gaze softening in mine. "Is there a reason you didn't answer the other questions?"

_Because my parents ripped chunks of flesh clean from my chest, which, as you may or may not know, makes it pretty damn hard to focus on To Kill a Mockingbird._

"I didn't know the answers…" I muttered back, not meeting his eyes anymore as I dropped my gaze to my shoes.

He pulled the paper away, shaking his head slightly as he turned to the back. "And the essay…?"

"…I don't know…" I whispered, not daring to face him. In truth I did know, a little too well, in fact. Even now, three days after the test, the essay question still burned brightly in my mind. I remembered each word verbatim, because honestly, I knew the answers too well.

_How does the discrimination Tom Robinson faces lead ultimately to his death? Why do the citizens of Maycomb not believe him when he pleads innocent? Can this story still relate to modern day struggles?_

Hated and abandoned because of who he physically was.

Ripped to shreds in court despite pleading his honest innocence.

_No, that can't relate to modern day. I don't see how. _My mind bit back, sarcasm actually making me shiver.

I bit down the panic rising in my throat, the last bit of the question putting me on edge.

_Of all the ironic questions. _

Lancer gave a defeated sigh, pulling the paper back to himself, the sheet softly whishing on the smooth oak desk. He pushed it to the corner farthest from me, setting it aside for now, boring his eyes into mine until I had no choice but to look up.

"Daniel…" he started, hands folding patiently on the desk as he locked in on my darting (and dead) eyes, softly disappointed gray ones trying to comfort them. "I know I'm no guidance councilor, but I _did_ take four years of psychology in college. I can tell when students are having troubles beyond understanding classic books, and you…" He shook his head, slightly uncomfortable with the 'wall of support' stance he was trying to make. "I know you, Daniel. And this isn't you…" he gestured toward the paper.

I kept my eyes locked on my teacher, completely silent.

He shifted a bit in his chair, eyebrows arching slightly. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Daniel." His hand fished through the open drawer in his desk until it surfaced with the class seating chart, his eyes briefly scanning over each name. "I can always tell what kind of student my pupils are within the first week of class. I just have a knack to see what kind of learners they are, what ambitions they have. The slackers and overachievers and those just lost from the beginning, they're all obvious if you just look hard enough. But I could swear, Mr. Fenton, if only for a few weeks this year, I saw a student who honestly wanted to learn." I wanted to pull my eyes away, instead finding them locked on the slight smile playing at his lips. For a moment his gaze lightened, eyes shining a bit in the memory. I was wrenched from his expression, the room tilting dangerously sideways, forcing me to grab hold of the desk before I could fall. Lancer paused, looking down at my hand before continuing. "I saw a young man who wanted to live up to his sister's reputation, someone who wanted to make the people around him proud, someone with ambitions beyond high school."

_Please stop. Don't…just don't._

His expression changed again, saddened, disappointed. "And a few weeks after the start of the year, that person suddenly disappeared. I never knew what happened to him, why he just gave up on everything without a second's notice, like none of it mattered anymore..." His eyes grew serious, the nostaligic look vanishing as he clearly pulled himself back to the present, gray pupils refusing to let mine leave. "Something was wrong, and something _has been_ 'wrong' for a while, Danny. Only now I'm realizing it's gone too far."

I startled a bit, surprised to be addressed by my nickname.

"It was never my business before to ask; your problems are your own. But clearly—whatever that 'something' is—it's hurting you."

I didn't blink. I didn't move. I didn't answer.

Lancer dropped his eyes for the first time in an eternity, freeing my gaze. His eyes hovered on the sweater again, if only for a moment, before he pushed his eyes back to mine. "Please…I'm only here to help. Let me know what's troubling you."

"Nothing's troubling me." I answered, tone dead as I tugged consciously at the sweater. "I'm fine."

"If you don't wish to tell me, then say so, Daniel. Lies won't convince anyone, and certainly not me."

"Really…" I pressed, trying desperately to put conviction in my voice, shutting out the horrific images floating through my pounding head. "I'm…I'm fine…"

Lancer simply stared, expression unchanged.

"Just tired…" I finished lamely.

"Alright then…" Lancer sighed, chewing a bit on his lip, "How about some yes or no questions. Those should be easier. Is this thing school-related?"

"Nothings wrong!"

Lancer cocked an eyebrow.

"No…" I finished sourly.

"Friends or bullies?"

"No."

"Family?"

I hesitated, eyes widening for just a split second.

"…No." I offered, throat dry as I forced the lie.

He shook his head, giving up on eye contact. A pile of papers was scooped into his hand, shuffling on the desk as he continued. "You should know; your parents called the school yesterday, Mr. Fenton. They were worried you were having trouble here, and apparently you refuse to talk to them anymore."

_What?_

"In fact I spent quite a while on the phone with them; something _is _bothering you, Danny, and lying won't make it better." He paused, watching my expression slip as exhaustion overcame whatever bit of composure I tried to maintain. "We're all just trying to help."

"Well there's nothing you can do." I put bluntly, my other hand reaching for his desk as I tried to steady myself. Tears were pricking in my eyes, headache worsening as I hoped against hope he would let me leave.

"You can't know that if you don't let us try." His voice—his and Jazz's and Tucker's and Sam's—the childlike pity was literally grating against my ears.

_No more._

The silence drew out, my hands shaking slightly as I tried to push myself to the door.

"Mr. Fenton…" The tone was different, honestly curious as his gaze dropped to my chest. "Why are you wearing that sweater?"

One hand flew from the desk, tugging roughly at the scratchy collar as my eyes widened. "…I was cold."

Mr. Lancer didn't seem to hear me, eyes squinting as he honed in on my hand, still yanking desperately at the hem with no way to judge how far up it was. He scrutinized my fingers for a moment, eyebrows furrowing; at least I thought he was, until I dropped my palm to my side, and watched in horror as his gaze didn't follow. With a wave of sickening dread, heightening the nausea that churned in my stomach, I realized he had been staring at my actual neckline.

Confusion twisted slowly on his face, mouth hanging open the slightest bit as my stomach gave an unpleasant lurch.

"What…is…?" He started, eyebrows stitching in worry as his gaze burned into my neck. I didn't give him the opportunity to finish, though. Immediately I yanked my backpack from the floor, turning quickly enough for the room to swoon as I stumbled to the door.

"Nothing," I shot back curtly, not daring to face him. "I have to get going; I'm already late."

"Mr. Fenton, stop."

I halted, heart pounding as I refused to face him.

"…Turn please."

"I have to leave."

"This is lunch period, Mr. Fenton. I assure you no teacher will mark you tardy. Now please, just face me."

"…_Why?" Please, don't do this._

"Because I'm the teacher." He gave, authority in his annoyed voice, but a stronger emotion cut through his tone. Worry?

_This isn't happening_ my mind offered unhelpfully as I spun slowly on one foot, eyes darting desperately in search of some escape. I fought against every impulse in my body to tug at the sweater's lining again, feeling more than seeing the way his eyes burned through it.

"What's on your neck?" He asked cautiously, not beating around the bush anymore.

"Nothing."

"Daniel…"

"Nothing!" I snapped, hand finally flying to the hem as I yanked it upward, trying again to leave.

"Mr. Fenton you are not to leave until I dismiss you!"

I was trapped, physically bound in a mental tug-of-war.

"You can…you can go in a moment…" he muttered gently. "But first," tone slightly anxious, "if you won't _tell _me…Pull the neck of your sweater down…just a bit. I promise you can go then."

_Oh God please no. _

My eyes went wide in shock, mind struggling to reestablish control as my stomach lurched again.

"You don't have the authority to make me do that." I spat blandly, arms crossing. But my voice still quivered, giving away my desperate attempt at feigning control.

"No, I suppose I don't." Lancer offered with a sigh. "I can't make you show me, but by refusing you'll only make me assume the worst."

I cocked an eyebrow, not yielding to the underhand tactics.

His expression died, eyes falling to his desk as he gathered up the remaining papers. "I can't make you." He admitted, pushing the papers into his briefcase. "But I do always have the authority to question your friends, your classmates, your sister, your parents, and any other teacher I like about this." He raised his head, watching my mouth drop open, face paling. "Something is wrong, Daniel, and if it's wrong enough to reduce you to that," he gestured to my appearance, seeming to cringe slightly, "I can't in all good conscious let you leave, not without doing everything I can to help you."

My legs were numb, trembling as I tried to maintain enough control to stay standing.

"I'm giving you an option, Daniel, either we keep this between us, here, or I can get the entire school involved. Letting you keep pretending you're fine is not a choice."

My heart dropped, losing the last of my energy to resist.

"Between us, huh?" I nearly scoffed. "And what if you find out it's something bad, really bad? Would you still be able to keep it 'between us'?"

He raised an eyebrow for a moment, thinking. "That would depend."

"In other words no…" I muttered, looking desperately to the doorway, still bound to the spot by Lancer's stare. "…And…you're still not letting me leave…?" I asked weakly, eyes thrown to the floor as defeat coated my words. I was tired of fighting.

"I'm afraid not…"

Silence rested heavily over us until

"….Fine…" I scarcely whispered.

One trembling hand found its way to my collar, first two fingers wrapping around the worn hem.

_Please no_

I faltered, eyes locked in Mr. Lancer's stare, shooting one last plea to let me go. Instead he just nodded, silently encouraging me to continue.

"Please…don't make me…" But I couldn't hear my own words, and certainly Lancer couldn't either.

My eyes shut, I wrenched down on the fabric, holding my breath as my neck met the open air, my mind forcing forward the blood chilling details of my strangulation.

"…"

"…"

Silence. _Stunned_ silence, hung over the room. I cracked an eye open, taking in the horror and unmasked shock coating Lancer's face. With each passing second his eyes seemed to grow wider, taking in the distinct mark on my neck, and the sickening truth it entailed. His mouth hung open, eyes unable to go wider as terror leaked from their surface, darting across my mutilated skin.

"My…God Daniel…" Mr. Lancer whispered. I looked away, pulling the fabric back up as I reached a trembling hand for my bag.

He spoke again, voice actually hurt.

"Daniel please, you can't…If someone's doing this to you I can't just let-"

But I didn't let him finish, wrapping the strap around one shoulder as I pushed myself out of the room.

"Don't…" I interjected, voice still weak. "Just don't…There's nothing you _can_ do. So please…please don't try..."

Gently, I shut the door behind me, tears spilling freely down my cheeks as anxiety ate through my stomach. The floor seemed to dip sharply, feet stumbling to stay upright as my stomach heaved violently, retching doubling me over. Backpack forgotten, I raced to the boy's bathroom at the end of the hall.

I barely made it in time, doubled over in the stall as my head throbbed painfully in protest.

**...**

**Yeah, Danny's got a concussion. Poor guy.**


	15. Fear PS

Wow..._really _late update...sorry about that. Life got a bit hectic for me this week...(eleven different tests/quizzes/projects/presentations hectic...I counted.) But I haven't forgotten about Wondering! And on the upside, a lot of the next chapter is already written, so best case scenario it could be up tomorrow, or Saturday at the latest.

but first, there's one thing I want to try to clarify, because it was giving me a bit of a headache to figure out in formatting. Danny's thoughts will always be italicized, however when he's having a "conversation" with the voice in his head, his own thoughts will have parentheses around them to make the two "speakers" obvious (because the voice is kind of the dominating factor in his head.) Regular thoughts have simple italics when the voice isn't involved...I might change that if I come up with a better solution

Thanks so much for all the support! I've said it a million times, but the reviews just mean so much to me (and in some cases, they actually help me decide where the story is headed, so don't be afraid to tell me what you want!)

Please enjoy!

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My mind was dead, thoughts a jumbled mess as panic gripped me like a vice. My feet moved without instruction, carrying me like a rag doll. All awareness of my actions vanished, and I found myself sitting in the cafeteria, alone, with no recollection of how I got there. The world was lost; it was dead; and all I could cling to was the steady rise and fall of my chest, counting each breath in its steady in-out pattern.

I was too sick to think about food, too scared to even move from my position at the table, body rigid as my hands clung to the edge, desperately grasping it like my last tether to reality. The room was filling with the deafening cacophony of hundreds of teenagers chatting amongst themselves, navigating through the masses of bodies, none even glancing in my direction. But still, I tried desperately to maintain the slightest bit of composure, shrinking in on myself as I hoped to dissolve into the background. I could always have phased invisible, could have ripped my hair out and paced until ruts were carved into the flooring like I so desperately wanted to. No one would ever know, but somehow, I couldn't bring myself to do it. The thought of using my powers—of doing anything related to my ghost half—ate through me, anxiety burning holes in my mind like acid. Instead I tried to shut myself out from everything, just the rise and fall of my chest.

But now, trying wasn't good enough.

My backpack lay forgotten by my side, untouched, as I no longer had the heart to dig out the sandwich Jazz packed for me. I couldn't bring myself to unwrap it, not even for appearance's sake. Every lunch period I'd tried to eat, never being able to force anything down my throat as Sam and Tucker's worried looks burned into my skull. Instead my sandwich always found itself torn apart, nervous anxiety overpowering any chance I had at feigning an appetite. It wouldn't matter anyway, all the nibbling, tearing, and prodding my sandwich underwent could never fool Sam and Tucker. I wasn't eating, and they knew it. They could see how my face was growing gaunt, bones jutting a bit more prominently against my skin, but they were too kind to press the fact, too worried about everything else to mention it. Today, however, it didn't matter.

Sam and Tucker were gone anyway.

_Gon_ers _anyway. _My mind bit back, sending a seething wave of self-loathing down my spine.

_(And it's all my fault!)_

The thought grated against my skin, shivers wracking my body as the cloud of fear settled over my heart. Yet now, with everything collapsing around me, I didn't have it in me to care anymore. I didn't have the will to try.

Misplaced anger boiled inside me, my fists clenching as the reality of everything slammed me full force in the stomach, listless composure shattering. _Why me? _My backpack received a forceful kick, my foot sending it skidding between tables.

(_Why me? Why is it always me? What did I _ever_ do to deserve this?) _The room spun a bit as I fought to keep myself together. (_And now Lancer…I don't know what to do now that…now that he's…) _My mind trailed off, unable to finish the thought, too panicked to admit what could happen.

The silence in my mind did not last for long, however, as the seething voice I couldn't ignore cut through my head.

_Yes, what _of _Lancer? It's not like he'll just let this go. He could be on the phone with your parents right now. _The voice hesitated, ramping up the malice biting through its words. _No—scratch that—I'm sure he _is_ on the phone with your parents right now_._ Or, even better, with child protective services. Imagine the kind of explanation you'll have to give when the police cart your clueless parents off to jail. Hopefully the government keeps human criminals and ghost criminals separate; that way you'll never have to explain anything to their faces!_

_(I don't care…)_

_Of course not, you coward, because none of it can affect you now. _For a moment I could hear the voice smile. _You'll be dead before this goes anywhere._

_(Shut up!)_

I wrapped both hands around my head, fingers digging into my scalp as I let my forehead hit the table. Silent tears pricked the corners of my eyes, forcefully fought back along with the splitting pain, the nausea, the anxiety, the fear, and the crippling dread of being so helpless.

"I don't want to do this anymore…" I whispered, voice quivering as the tears started spilling past my shut eyelids.

_And you won't have to, not the way you're going._

"…Danny…?"

(_Is that?...)_

I pulled my head up, quickly wiping away the tears at the soft voice's worry.

"Yeah?" My words scarcely audible, body tensing as I met the questioner's gaze.

"Oh thank god you're okay!" Sam's terrified violet eyes, drained and dulled with worry, swam into view, as she hurried to set her things down and take the seat next to me. If only for a second they shined, the slightest of smiles brushing her lips as her eyes met mine, pulling me into a hug. Tucker was in tote, keeping a safer distance as he watched with a half smile on his lips. He didn't speak, having been far more silent these past few days than I could ever recall.

_Yup, never been better. Once you look past the fact that I'm still dying._

I pulled myself away from Sam, pushing both arms out to keep her at length. Even then I couldn't stand the contact, pulling my hands in to wrap protectively around my stomach. My gaze followed the path of my arms, staring down the nasty orange sweater, the too pale skin, as I avoided looking into Sam's eyes. Her gaze burned into me, the desperation to connect almost palpable, but still I kept my eyes down, not wanting to betray the fear and worry etched into them.

I was tired of making her suffer.

"What…what happened to you this morning?" Sam whispered, head shifting as she tried desperately to meet my look. Still, I couldn't face her, mind struggling to bite back all the emotions searing through my body, struggling to maintain the blankest expression I could. I let the silence stretch between us, completely at a loss for an answer, until Sam pushed on. "Jazz…Jazz said you came to school when we asked her…"

She paused.

"But we didn't…"

Silence.

"I mean you weren't…"

Her pitch grew steadily higher, a day's worth of suppressed worry breaking the tension as tears welled in her eyes "With the ghost attack we thought you might've—"

"I-It's okay," I offered, tentatively raising my arms, letting them hover around hers for a split second before I wrapped her back in the hug. I hoped against hope she wouldn't see through the act, that she'd accept the comfort I was in no position to give. "I just…had a little run in with Plasmius." Sam tensed in my grasp, letting me sense more than see the way her eyes widened. "No, it's not like—" I faltered, head spinning. "I didn't mean he-!...He…well…he wanted to know what happened to Danny Phantom."

I paused, feeling the stress start to tear into my mind. Still, Sam offered no response.

"I'm fine! Really he just…"

_I can't tell her._

"…just…"

_I can carry some of this burden on my own; I'm not that weak._

"…made me tell him what happened…to avoid a fight." I finished, voice dead as my eyes.

Sam glanced at me, pulling herself from my grasp slightly to meet my eyes. This time I let her violet irises stare into my own icy blue ones, fighting to keep the lie from showing on my face. "I uh…he backed off actually…once I explained everything." The words tumbled from my mouth, hands wringing silently together under the table as my eyes darted around the cafeteria for a moment. "He…offered to help." I flinched slightly, seeing the fear still burning in Sam's eyes. She knew me too well, knew how I talk and how I lie. That look in her eyes—she knew I hadn't said everything.

_And on top of that, I'm still dying._

"I'm just…fine…really."

_Rotting or otherwise._

Her eyes darted to the sweater, accusation radiating from her terrified glare as she took in the rumpled, dusty, ugly piece. Sam knew my reserve as well as I did—maybe better, and of all the forgotten clothes molding over in the dank closet, this one had to be the most unmistakable, nothing short of a last-ditch choice for hiding battle wounds. Despite myself, I shook my head, eyes shutting for a moment as I tried to dismiss her concern. Two fingers wrapped themselves around the neckline, instinctually tugging at the collar again once they'd been freed from ym twisting hands. "Don't worry about the sweater…Vlad pushed me around a bit, but I didn't have any time to wash up on my way to English. I just…threw this on instead."

Still, Sam offered no response.

Dread settled in my stomach, a small piece of me dying as I forced a smile to my lips, trying my hardest to poke fun at the situation. "My endurance is way down. I only got through a few scrapes before I spilled everything to him. It's embarrassing how much of a baby I can be."

Sam didn't laugh, didn't even react. The smile fell from my lips, eyes tracing their way across the tiled flooring. "It's just a few nicks really…nothing I'm not used to."

"Do they need to be bandaged?" She offered suddenly. "I have some gauze in my—"

"No! No!" I answered too quickly, pulling myself from her. "It's nothing like that. I'm sure it'll be healed in a few days."

The silence settled uncomfortably over us, my head still spinning as I tried to keep the terror from my eyes.

"You…you were gone a long time, dude…" Tucker cut in, finally taking the seat across from me, bag set on the ground. "You sure you're telling us everything?"

_Damn it…_

"Why wouldn't I…?" I whispered, eyes meeting his. "Vlad's just a stickler for long explanations…he wouldn't let me go until he had all the details…"

His eyes—those piercing, aged, tired eyes. They cut through me like a knife, making the last bit of my composure start to crumble. Control was slipping from my grasp, and I wrenched my gaze away from his knowing stare, my blank expression faltering with guilt. Those eyes—they didn't believe me.

_Tucker_ didn't believe me.

And from the fearful violet orbs next to me, neither did Sam.

I was shutting down, trying to pull myself away before this could go any further. I could feel myself slipping, and thankfully, Tucker and Sam did too, letting my lie hover in the silence without challenge. They knew they couldn't push me too far, not without breaking me down entirely.

Silence, save for the cafeteria noise, settled over us again, my eyes still tracing the lines on the floor. I could feel the seconds ticking, until Tucker suddenly cut in.

"So…Vlad offered to help, did he? …I suppose that explains why he was beating the crap out of the box ghost…" he mused almost darkly, shaking his head. "Figured Plasmius was just sick of the guy." He dropped the slight smile from his face, thinking it over. "And why he had the thermos…you gave it to him?"

I nodded, not raising my eyes.

Tucker chewed on his lip, a different sort of worry eating into his expression when I glanced up, watching as he thought it over.

"Danny…Don't take this the wrong way, but that wasn't smart."

I jerked my head up, room spinning for a split second longer than the motion, as my eyes met Tucker, disbelief giving the slightest sign of life to them. _Not smart? _He didn't understand, didn't see the kind of break this was. We had an ally now, a _powerful_ ally, who was probably the only person left who could protect them.

"Why?"

"It's Vlad!" Tucker threw both hands up, concern etching deeper into his face as the stress got to him. "You know, _Vlad!_ The guy who tried to ruin your life? The Vlad Masters who tried to off your dad and steal your mom? We are talking about the same person aren't we?"

"You guys didn't see his face when I told him!" I shot back, voice cracking slightly toward the end. _When he saw me. _"He's not…he's not trying to fool me…" I mumbled, head shaking as a better argument hung far out of reach. "Really…And—" I challenged, voice rising steadily higher, steadily louder, "it's not like we have too many options right now! Ghost hunting isn't something we can handle alone anymore!" My eyes darted back and forth between the two, hoping desperately for any kind of support. "…I trust him." I finished curtly, room still spinning a bit.

Silence rested over the three of us, seconds ticking in my head again, until Tucker let out an incredulous snort.

"'Trust him'? You'd honestly think that—…" he didn't find the words to finish, shaking his head almost in disbelief. "Maybe we don't have _many_ choices, Danny, but 'no' is always a good one! We _can't _trust him! We have no _reason_ to trust him! He's…he's evil!"

"Why?" I shot back, a pang of anger rippling through my body. "Because he tried to humiliate my dad and steal my mom? Well I'm sorry if I don't exactly _care_ anymore what he's done to them!" Tucker and Sam both flinched at the outburst, my own body cringing slightly as the realization hit me.

_I don't care…_

"If you're going to call _anyone_ evil in this situation don't you think my mo—" But I cut myself off, unable to force the words past my lips.

_My mom and dad…Aren't they the evil ones now?_

Instead my fingers curled in on themselves, forming tight fists that shook with the misplaced anger coursing through my veins. "Despite whatever Vlad's done he's never _ripped me open!_!" I spat, feeling Sam cringe again beside me.

She shifted to face me, forcing herself into the conversation before I could continue.

"Danny…I know that you're hurt and—and _angry_, but Tucker might be right. Vlad _isn't_ trustworthy and I'm—"

"**Just going to take his side then**?" I spat, jabbing a finger in Tucker's direction as I glared into her eyes.

_Stop it! They're just trying to help!_

"Of course, because you two _don't give a damn_ that you're getting yourselves killed out there!" I rose from my seat, breathing more heavily as the cafeteria spun in circles.

Hurt radiated from Sam's eyes. "Danny, you don't think that—"

"Well _I _do care!" My hands were trembling, world almost lost to me as I vented my anger at them. "And I can't sit back and watch you two die! Vlad can _help_ us."

"You think it was any easier for us?" Sam shot back, tears spilling over her cheeks as her glare matched mine. "Keep in mind we had to be the 'sidekicks' for months while you fought every ghost in town. You'd leave us some nights and never come back! Never call! Never let us know if you were safe! And I'd sit awake in bed wondering…wondering if you were…were." She wiped furiously at the tears streaming down her cheeks, words choked off as she tried to maintain control. "Damn it, Danny! Some nights…just sitting alone in the dark…it was nothing short of _terrifying. _There were times I was so _certain _you were gone! That when the sun rose I'd find two policemen standing at my door to tell me they found you bloody and dead in the streets!" Sam swallowed, two fresh tears pouring down her cheeks. "Don't you think I _know _ghost fighting is dangerous? It…It was scary for us too! But…even then we didn't go allying ourselves with people we _know_ are evil."

The guilt rammed me full force in the chest, breaking something deep inside me. _Why am I always hurting her! _However the thought dissipated, my anger overpowering as it took control, trembles wracking my body until I visibly shook.

"Well you never had to!" I spat back, eyes seething into Sam's. Taking a step closer to her, I jabbed my thumb to my chest, nail piercing through the wool as it pressed against my ribcage, the fingers still curled in a tight ball. My eyes burned into hers, watching, with a bit of satisfaction I'd quickly regret, as she flinched, shrinking back a bit. "_I _could handle it; _I _could handle fighting ghosts because I _am _a ghost! And even then…even then you two could always _be_ there to help if you wanted!" My body was shaking as I pushed myself in Sam's face. "I'm hauled up inside like some pathetic cripple, while you two are out there! You're just two humans, two _teenagers _fighting against ghosts who wouldn't think twice about tearing you in half!" Furious tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and I pulled my hand to my head, running it through my thin hair. "There have been times when you two were just _gone! Class after class! _And…and every second you didn't come back…I thought…thought for sure you were _dead! I was so certain you two were dead and it was my own damn fault!_"

My breathing came in ragged gasps, calming suddenly as my eyes went dull. The anger dissipated from my system, replaced with a bitter shame that ate through every fiber of my being. I wasn't angry at them. I was angry at myself, at my own weakness, at the pain and hurt and fear I was causing. And now, I was just dragging them down with me.

I pulled myself away from Sam, spinning around until my back was to her.

"Don't…don't you get it?" I sobbed, composure gone as misery wracked my body, tears running freely down my cheeks as I felt my heart hit the floor. "Don't you get that all of this is _my_ fault?" My voice caught in my throat, choking off my words for a moment as I buried my face in my hands. "It's _my_ fault—everything that's happened—is all. my. _fault._. You two are risking your lives everyday because of a mistake I made. And one of these days…when you finally _don't_ come back…I know it'll be my fault too!" Tears ran freely past my hands, not daring to face either of them as the bitter shame consumed everything I was. "And now…now that I'm…_useless,_ there isn't anything I can do to fix things!"

I froze, a few shuddering gasps wracking my body as images of my two closest friends swam past my eyes, cold and dead and bloodied, lying facedown on the road.

"…I'm sorry. Really, really, sorry…" I finished, my voice painfully weak.

I yanked my bag from the ground, moving listlessly to the cafeteria door.

"Danny…" Sam called back, hurt deep in her voice. "I didn't mean…Please, where are you going?"

"I need to go talk to Lancer…before this gets any worse."

"No! …Please Danny…please…"

But I kept my face forward, my mind completely shutting down as I burned a hole in the wall across. Gaze not daring to leave it, not daring to meet Sam's eyes,

Not daring to let her see the crippling shame in them.…


	16. Honesty from the Student PS

Chapter 16, yay! And it would seem I have missed my deadline again...heheh, sorry ^^; But life got a little bit in the way, and this was another one of those "requires a lot of tinkering" chapters. It was definitely fun to write, though! Plus I got a little (well a lot) inspired to jump on it after talking to Anneriawings and Ecokitty ^^. I command everyone now to go look them up, because they are awesome. And Anneriawings helped me get Wondering up on my Deviantart account, so yeah...that's coming soon!

And of course, all you reviewers are incredible! Every one of you deserves a hug! So please, enjoy!

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The hallway was all but deserted as I traced my steps back to the English room, eyes never leaving my feet, hoping against hope that Lancer hadn't gone to my parents yet. Still I couldn't focus on the possibility; Sam's hurt eyes, so weighed down with the pain and fear I'd caused, burned brightly in my mind. I couldn't shake the image, let alone the guilt.

_You really know how to make a girl feel appreciated, don't you?_

_(Shut up.)_

I rounded the hall, eyes darting from door to door as I raced toward the staircase, passing Room 103.

_Why bother? Lancer's probably called your parents by now, told them every little detail._

_(Stop it.)_

104

_Or even better, he could be on the phone with the police._

_(N-no…He wouldn't…)_

105

_Did you honestly think he'd let a_strangled _student just walk out of his room? You were terrified fighting him the whole time, and a polite request is supposed to make him forget what he saw? You really are dumb._

_(Shut up)_

Main Office.

(_Wait, was that-?)_

I whipped my head around, losing my balance slightly as the hallway spun, until I focused on the figure outside the office door. He held a briefcase in his hand, a coffee mug in the other, struggling to get the office door open with his elbow.

"M-Mr. Lancer!" I called, voice quivering weakly as he spun around, nearly losing his coffee cup in the process.

My face fell, catching the guilty, troubled expression that crossed his face as he fumbled with the mug.

"I…I just…" I started, voice no where above a whisper as I threw my eyes to the ground. "I…want to talk."

I licked my lips nervously, feeling rather than seeing Lancer's own discomfort. "Have you…? I mean did you…? My parents…You-you called them, didn't you?" I asked weakly, avoiding his eyes as crushing realization settled in my stomach.

He stared for a moment, cup gripped awkwardly against his chest as he seemed to process what I'd said.

"Well I…No…I haven't yet…" he started softly, still not looking at me. "I was just about to—" He shook his head, regaining his composure. "Listen, Daniel, whatever is happening, it's not something I can just ignore. I know you asked that we keep this a secret, but if someone's _honestly_hurting you like that…If I didn't report this…or-or didn't do something about it…I'm sorry, but I—"

I cut him off, taking the coffee cup from his hand. "I…I know…But please, _please_, just…just give me a chance to explain first!" My eyes were pleading, boring into his borderline guilty irises as I tried desperately to make him see. "_No one_ can know about this! It's way deeper than…I mean so much is riding on—" I ran a shaking hand through my hair, cursing under my breath as panicked tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. "I just…just need a chance to tell you _why."_

He met my eyes, pity and sadness looking me over as he tried to reach a conclusion.

"You-you can decide what to do afterward, and I won't argue…but please…" Tears forced their way to the surface, anxiety cutting through me like a knife as I watched his composure crumble, "at least hear me out."

He paused, resolution dissipating as his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Alright, I…will at least allow you that much."

With his now free hand, he opened the office door, sending my heart to the ground as he got the secretary's attention. However he stayed by the doorway, not budging as he called in.

"Linda, something urgent just came up. Can you make an announcement for my seventh period class to meet in the library?" Linda answered, too faintly for me to here. "No, Mr. Rein's class should be working on their research papers in there; I'm sure he wouldn't mind keeping an eye on them while they read." Another muffled response drifted through the door. "Thanks…" Lancer finished, shutting the door behind him.

He turned to me, eyes marred with that same, awful, pitying look. I pulled my gaze away, vision trained on my feet as the hallway swam out of view, tears clouding my vision. He regarded me silently for a moment, unable to meet my downcast eyes, until I caught the echo of his footsteps making their way down the hall. I blinked hard, watching two slight tears plummet to my feet, absently following Mr. Lancer up the stairs to his second floor room.

…

My feet carried me across the room, wavering more each second as the weight of the situation crushed me. The horrible, molding sweater chafed mercilessly against my throat, and the damp, humid, ectoplasm soaked shirt underneath pushed me past my limits, making me desperately want to rip both pieces off like they were diseased. I felt like I was suffocating again under them, under the tainted feeling they had, the memories they carried.

I shuddered, tugging helplessly against the scratchy fabric.

_Please get it off!_

"Mr. Fenton?" Lancer started nervously, apprehensive eyes meeting me as he shut the door quietly behind him. "Are you okay?"

"Fine…" I muttered, yanking my hands to my sides.

"Well…" His eyes settled on mine, their fear dulling as he wiped his face of emotion. "I'm all ears…"

_Now what?_

I licked my lips nervously, eyes darting around the room. "I…I don't know what to say…" I started lamely, strength gone from my voice. "Could you…could you understand if I just told you…how _vital_ it is that no one knows?" The weakness in my own voice grated against my ears, head in turmoil as I made one last desperate grab at getting myself out of this. Maybe I could convince him without telling the truth. I could just nudge him in the right direction…get him to see that there's _something_bigger that's happening…something he shouldn't touch.

Maybe I could lie.

"This _thing_ that happened…it's best for everyone if my parents never know, if no one knows, actually..." I paused, pulling at the hem of my sweater, the slick shirt underneath steadily draining my sanity.

_Please get it off…_

"Daniel…" He paused, eyes taking on a gentler look. "If you've done something to get yourself in trouble, there's no reason to be afraid." He paused trying to read my face. "I assure you that is absolutely no excuse for anyone to hurt you. Nobody will report you if you let us help; I can promise you that."

"No…no it's not like that at all…" I trailed off, hands running through my limp hair as I started pacing across the room. "I haven't done anything wrong."

_But what can I say? Gangs? Drugs? Nothing like that could get me off the hook…Think, damn it!_

"E-even so…if this thing gets out, a lot of good people could end up hurt." My eyes flew to the corner of the room, composure breaking slightly at the word "good"…Were they even good anymore?

"By 'hurt'…" Lancer started patiently, tone far too gentle as he eased himself into what he suggested next. "Does that mean-…Has someone threatened you, o-or your family…if you tell?" Mr. Lancer pressed, all pretenses of the stiff collar teacher quickly gone, leaving behind a desperate worry to help.

_Yes. Roll with it._

"Y-yes kind of…they could all be in danger if anyone finds out."

Mr. Lancer's expression softened slightly. He leaned back in his chair, tiniest of comforting smiles tugging at his lips as he tried to assume authority.

"It may seem scary, but in that case we need to contact the police. They know how to handle things like this so everyone will be safe."

"No!" I nearly cried, eyes widening as I threw a hand out. Lancer arched his eyebrows in surprise, smile dropping from his lips as he took in my panicked worry. Catching sight of him, I hesitated, hand falling to my side. "No…please don't call the police…No one's being threatened, I just...It's just a lot more complicated than you realize."

"We won't get anywhere if you're still lying to me Daniel." Lancer put curtly, eyes narrowing. "Is your family being threatened or not?"

"…No. They're not."

"Are you still lying to me?"

"N-no…It's the truth…I'm sorry."

Lancer regarded me with a slightly skeptical look, but I could tell from his eyes he believed I wasn't lying anymore. "Then…why can I not tell your parents?"

"I…" I started, eyes darting around as my mind searched desperately for a lie it would never find. "It's…for their own sake."

"And why's that?"

_Damn it…_

I licked my lips again, the skin feeling chapped from the constant action. My eyes refused to meet Lancer's, fixing themselves on the side wall I struggled to find an answer.

"This…this thing that happened…It's…it's kind of my parents' fault. But they didn't mean to…do it—more my fault actually—and they can't—"

I was cut off, flinching harshly as Mr. Lancer's hand came down on my shoulder. He yanked it back immediately at my recoil, watching my eyes glaze over, flickering with the pain of the memories wrenched through my mind. I hadn't expected it, hadn't seen him cross the room to me, and the sudden contact left me thoroughly shaken.

"It's…it's common for abusers to say they didn't mean to hurt the victims…" Mr. Lancer started, forcing comfort into his voice.

_My parents? Abusers? …Well I suppose that fits._

"But that doesn't mean what they're doing is okay! There's no rationale for your covering up their actions. You need to think about your own well being here…We can find ways to help you."

"No! No you don't get it!" I pressed, tears pricking at my eyes. I couldn't take his look, his eyes calm and comforting, like he could make everything better just by being the adult. I had long since given up the idea that things could be alright, yet the honest hope in his face tore me apart on spot.

"They…they don't know that they…! I mean…in-in the lab…They didn't…couldn't have known…" My voice trailed off, anxiety ripping through my mind as I lost the ability to form complete sentences, not without digging up the pain I'd buried deep down.

Lancer's expression faltered, one eyebrow raised in confusion.

"What do you mean the lab? And the…the marks on your neck, Daniel…those were intentional. Your parents must have known that they…" Lancer trailed off, his voice disbelieving behind the unbearable pity.

"They didn't…I mean that was something else entirely. The marks weren't—I mean my parents didn't-" The breath left my lungs, reality slipping away by the second as autopilot crept into the corners of my vision, frustrated tears threatening to spill onto my cheeks. "They're connected but…not the same." I finished lamely, collapsing into a seat as the energy drained from my legs, too exhausted to continue. "Please just try to understand…" I pleaded, head in my hands as the room started spinning again.

"…I'm sorry, Daniel, but I don't understand anything." Lancer shook his head, eyebrows arched high on his forehead. "…But I'm afraid that I can't keep this quiet if your parents are hurting you."

"Oh god…oh god oh god…" My head shook back and forth in my hands, before I pulled my eyes up locking onto his.

_This isn't happening._

_If Lancer calls my parents…if they_find out… My mind refused to complete the thought, sickening dread filling my body, cutting off my mind entirely.

_I don't have any other option._

My fingers wrung together, twisting in and out of each other as I kept my gaze to the ground, swallowing hard. "Can I…Can I trust you with a secret? Something you can't tell anyone, _ever?"_

Mr. Lancer cocked an eyebrow, worry eating into his features again as he decided how to answer.

"I…I'm sure you know that my parents research ghosts…They hunt ghosts, catch ghosts, dissect ghosts." I glanced his way, catching sight of the confusion in his expression. "That's…that's not the secret." I mumbled, shuffling slightly as my nails dug into my hands, fingers still wrapping tightly around each other. "But they do all sorts of experiments on ghosts…for the safety of the town…" My voice trailed off, effort dying in my throat as I found no way to continue. _How can I_tell _him? Jazz and Sam and Vlad at least knew I was Danny Phantom…Lancer on the other hand…_

"…What about that? What about their research?" Lancer barely whispered, like he was trying desperately to not scare away a frightened kitten.

"They think…deep down…all ghosts are evil." My head started shaking back and forth, mind pulling itself out of the situation as autopilot mode ripped apart my consciousness. "…But they—they're wrong." I whispered, offering little else as the silence settled over us again, thick enough to cut with a knife.

"And why's-…?" Lancer's voice came from my side.

"I know they're wrong!" My voice cracked, anger fueling my words for a split second as I cut Lancer off. "…because…

"because I'm…

"I'm not…

"…I'm not…"

"Not what?" Lancer pressed, leaning in slightly.

"_Human."_I finished weakly, watching Lancer startle from beside me.

The silence hung over the room again, Lancer's confusion almost palpable in the stagnant air.

_Please…let me take the sweater off!_

My coherence was fading fast, thoughts just decimated jumbles in the half-conscious mode I had trapped myself in. Words dying with my train of thought, I let the silence hover, blanketing us as Lancer struggled to find a way to continue. But through the haze, a thought forced its way into my mind, a different plan of action, and I acted on it without realizing it.

"…Mr. Lancer…What do you think of Danny Phantom?"

Lancer visibly jumped at the question, one eyebrow arching in confusion at the sudden change of topic.

"He…He's a good ghost, I suppose." His answer came as more of a question, like he was trying to find his bearings in the change of tone.

"That's…that's good. And do you know that he's…disappeared?"

Lancer eyed me suspiciously, "He…hasn't been seen in a while. They've been mentioning him on the news, but I don't know that 'disappeared' is-…But Daniel please, what does this—?"

"And does anyone know what happened to him?" I pressed, my voice strained, hands balling up into fists from the anxiety.

He paused, mouth open slightly.

"No, no one seems to know wha—Daniel, why are you—"

"Do you _want_ to know…?" I stated, my voice far too knowing to be a question, tone far too forceful for small talk. Lancer's expression changed, eyes widening slightly as he started to catch on, realizing that somehow the ghost boy was related. He closed his mouth, nodding slightly as he waited for me to continue.

"It's a miracle, really, to be a specialist on creatures who don't have any rights." I started, musing almost, words flowing from my mouth with no real direction. "There are animal cruelty laws and human rights acts that stop most people from being able to do just…_anything…_they wanted with a test subject." My eyes were trained on my hands, awareness seemingly gone as I spoke from autopilot. Yet even in such a far-gone state, I paused, mind still spinning in the haze as I started to shake my head. "But ghosts on the other hand…_they_ have no rights…researchers can rip them apart and melt the remains without batting an eye. No one would stop them. Nothing prevents ghost hunters from killing and dissecting their target…"

I took a deep breath, fighting against the chill running through my body.

"…or _vivisecting_ them…"

Lancer's mouth dropped open, eyes slowly widening in disgust as my words sinking in.

"Vivisecting?…you mean cutting them open…alive?"

"Exactly…" I muttered, clinging desperately to keep the slightest hold with reality. I pulled myself from the seat, yanking at the chafing sweater as I worked my way to the window. Tension hung thickly in the air, my mind grabbing desperately at my half aware state, trying not to slip away entirely, trying to continue despite the horrible memories. It was a wasted effort, as the words had died in my throat. Instead I cracked the window open, silently leaning my arms against the sill as I met the much welcome cold air.

I was definitely slipping, mind lost in the window as my body continued speaking on its own.

"Phantom…it was awful what they did to him. He begged and screamed the whole time but they just went right through the motions…cutting and sawing and ripping him apart…like they didn't even hear him." I shivered as the words tumbled from my mouth, well beyond control as my autopilot mode fully took charge, the world sinking away. "For hours on end…They literally ripped him to pieces."

I could feel Lancer gaping at me from across the room.

"You mean they…?" His words were scarcely above a whisper, shock draining the strength from his voice. "…I-Is he _still-_…?"

"No. He was freed." I answered curtly, sighing in the frigid air. "But the whole time there…what they did, they…they broke him."

_They broke_me…

I was scarcely aware of what I was saying, control over my words vanishing, everything that slipped from my mouth sending shivers down my spine.

"He…he wasn't evil. He wasn't like the other ghosts. -just wanted… just wanted to protect Amity Park…whatever way he could…." The tears were welling in my eyes, voice straining with the passing seconds. "…But now that…now he…

"he…"

I trailed off, pulling out of the window as I risked meeting Lancer's gaze, my eyes boring into his glazed ones as he tried to grasp what I was saying.

"I don't…I don't understand what you…" Lancer's words died, his head shaking slightly.

Instead I sighed, eyes turning back to the window, not able to look into Lancer's any longer.

"It's like I said…They never…never meant to hurt _me…"_

_Never meant to break_me.

My last words seemed to hang in the air, growing stronger with the drawn out silence.

"…No…" Lancer breathed, voice small as he tried to put everything together. Despite my efforts I shot one fleeting glance to him, watching his eyes lose their focus, his head rocking back and forth. "That's impossible."

"Fine then…" I muttered, pulling desperately at the sweater.

But my mind was shutting down, autopilot starting to give way to apathetic nothingness. I lost sight of how to continue, all my focus diverting to the chafing, suffocating sweater. Strands of the wool pulled taught under my grasp, catching on my fingers as I tugged.

_I can't do this anymore… The sweater. The shirt. Everything._

I pulled more forcefully, anxiety tearing apart my sanity, commanding me to rip the sweater to pieces. I couldn't stand it anymore, senses heightened to the budding sores on my chest, skin sloughing off from the constant rub of the soaking shirt, the thought chilling me to my core. _My rotting core._

I wrapped my hand around the bottom hem, trying desperately to fight the impulse, before my resolve shattered and I yanked it over my head, feeling the sweet brush of the cool January air.

If only for a moment, I enjoyed the comforting draft of icy air, losing myself in the window.

The feeling dissipated instantly, fear and dread setting in as I turned back to the room, surveying the damage I'd caused.

Lancer's eyes widened as he stared, terrified, his pupils shrinking to pinpoints while they darted across my tainted shirt. I followed his gaze, staring down at the once-white shirt that had been soaked through with bloody ectoplasm. Sickly green-red stains had started to rust over, congealing in spots where they shined the brightest. My eyes lingered on the sickly stain, the greens glowing faintly, like the toxic waste of a power plant, the once deep crimson turning a putrid brown, even then, the dirty stains looked chillingly human. My back started to freeze in the window's draft, the fabric having been thoroughly soaked in the puddle of ectoplasm Vlad pulled me from.

"Daniel…" Lancer was at my side before I had realized he moved, hurt and disbelief tainting his words. One arm hung out listlessly, cautiously, like he wanted to touch the bloody stain, like he wanted to make sure it was real. Instead he pulled his hand back, eyes lost as he took in the shirt, mind trying desperately to reject what I was showing him.

Somewhere through the haze, my mind found the words to continue, a few last muffled thoughts escaping before it shut down entirely. "What I said before…it wasn't entirely true." I muttered, eyes tracing the drying patches of blood. "I _am_ still human, …partly…human."

I raised my eyes to Lancer, feeling them flash green for a split second.

"But mostly I'm just…a freak.…If you ask me…I can't be called human…can never really be one again."

Lancer's eyes grew slowly wider, the slightest flickers of understanding trying to force themselves to the surface before snuffing out.

"I'm not evil…I promise I'm not. Everything I did…all I ever wanted…was just to protect the people I loved."

I paused, every muscle in my body screaming at me to stop.

"But I was an _idiot._ I kept things from my parents I never should have hid….Never told them…Never knew…Even when they were…_"_

Lancer's eyes seemed to tremble, mouth opening like he wanted to say something, voice still lost.

"No one…no one was supposed to know. No one except Sam and Tucker." I pulled my eyes away from his, thoughts looping in circles as I repeated what I'd already said. The strength was gone from my voice, eyes staring blankly out the window without facing it. "I just…wanted to protect everyone…whatever way I could…"

A few squirrels bobbed in and out of view in the yard, hopping from branch to branch in a game of tag. Their lines were starting to blur, tears marring my eyesight as I kept my gaze hidden.

"Of course, I can't do that anymore."

One ducked below the window sill, its friend darting down the trunk in pursuit, until the entire scene was awash in blotchy colors. A loose tear rolled down my cheek, staining the dirty sill, its mark prominent against the dusty coating that had accumulated with seemingly years of neglect. More followed, freely spilling over my eyes despite my hope to stay strong.

"Not since my parents…not since they…" I started shaking my head, words growing softer, weaker. "…I-It just went on for…for _so long…_"

_Plip…Plip..._

Silence followed for a moment, my mind ready to collapse under the pressure, legs desperately wanting to give out and crumble to the floor.

"…_The Scarlet Letter…_You don't mean…You're saying they—" Lancer's voice cut out in a strangled sort of squeak, tone betraying how sick he felt.

I nodded, not bothering to look his way. "I'm…I am."

"…Fenton…and Phantom…" Disbelief marred his tone, mixed with the guilt and horror. "Y-you can't mean that you…that all this time you were-?"

"Yeah," I whispered, tone still dead. "But it doesn't matter now."

My breath caught in my throat, mind giving out as I scrounged up the last bit of strength I had to continue.

"Doesn't matter now anyway…Phantom's dead."


	17. Crushed PS

Chapter 17! And really late update, I know! That's due mainly to slight lazyness on my part and a week of very poor computer cooperation (including my charging cord breaking, which means my laptop kept intermittently dying until I could borrow my brother's...ugh). But the chapter's here now, and I got a new cord! Props go the Anneriawings and Ecokitty for getting me to work on this for like...4 hours today to get it ready by tonight! So please enjoy!

Oh yeah, on a side note I'm leaving this Sunday for vacation which could mean, depending on hotel wifi friendliness and general fun activities, that Wondering might be taking a little break. I WILL be back though, promise!

...

...

"…**Dead?" **

…

Dead?

…

_Dead?_

Lancer's voice quivered as he spoke, his question echoing in my head. My body started to tremble, shaking with the tremors until my feet threatened to give out. It forced out all other thoughts from my head, the crushing realization tormenting my distanced mind.

_Dead. _

_Phantom's dead._

_Danny Phantom's dead._

Lancer's eyes stayed locked on me—I could feel them—burning a hole in my back as I trembled, refusing to turn.

"But Daniel…if he's…I thought you meant you…that _you _were..."

"Yeah, I-I did." I muttered weakly, resolve giving out as my shaking form turned to face Lancer, back leaning defensively against the sill. "I did mean it….did mean that I…"

My breath caught in my throat, words dying in a weak, shuddering exhale. Months upon months of pretending, of forcing myself to act as the typical high school student, desperately convincing everyone I **wasn't** anything more, halted the words in my mouth. Instead I shut my eyes, inhaling deeply as I forced out the words I could never say before.

"I _am _Danny Phantom…"

My feet finally gave out, slipping from under me as my back slid down the wall, hitting the floor with a thud. From my lowered vantage point, head struggling to remain upright, I saw Lancer jump toward me. He almost put a hand out, hesitating with confusion in his eyes. His expression faltered, like he wanted to help me, to pull me up, but fear held him in place, his pleading eyes darting across my broken form. "Danny…Phantom…" His head was shaking, eyes never leaving me. "All this time-…y-you mean all the-the _absences? _The _disappearances? _The unfinished work…A-all of that was because you-…?"

"Yeah…" I muttered, voice even weaker, smaller, from the ground. "I just…just always thought I was doing the _right thing! _That it…it didn't _matter _what I was giving up since I thought…I thought I was _helping people!" _I pulled my knees to my chest, elbows resting on them as I cradled my head in my arms. "I gave up everything…gave of my hope of ever _being_ anythingso I could…so I could_…"_

I yanked my head from my arms suddenly, palms flying out, upturned, in the tumult of anger coursing through my body. "_I died_! I actually _died! Me! _A-and even then…even after I had my life ripped out from under me, I still gave up whatever little I had left to _protect people! Such a fucking hero I was! And what kind of thanks did I get!"_

My eyes flew to Lancer, accusation piercing daggers through his terrified gaze as he recoiled. "I was _hunted! _I was _hated! _I was treated like I had no right to _exist!" _My hands were trembling now, misplaced aggression tumbling from my mouth as I lost sight of what I was saying.

"I lost my _life _in that accident and I _never _got it back!_"_

Lancer's pupils shook, fearing drenching their deep surfaces. Their look burned into my eyes, my heart seeming to skip a beat as I realized what I'd said. Shame forced me to lower my gaze, letting the anger dissipate as sadness marred my dulling eyes. "But I thought…after I worked hard enough…after I let people _see_ I wasn't evil—helped them enough—_saved them _enough…I could at least get a fraction of the respect I wanted." My fingers ran absently through my hair again, several loose strands pulling free from my thinning scalp. "And i-it was starting to _work! _People…people looked up to me. For once they saw I was…that I _was _the hero. E-even if my parents didn't, I could still…still look around at the town and be _proud _of everything I'd done."

Through the heavy silence, a new sort of resolve settled on Lancer's face. He finally came to my side, clearly biting back his fear as he placed one hand on my shoulder, trying desperately to be of some comfort. Yet he remained silent, thoughts clearly turning in his head, still unable to find the words to say. The silence grated against my ears, chiseling away my sanity as I forced myself to continue.

"…I-it was _hell _at times, hiding this from my parents—from everyone…" Both hands wrapped themselves around my knees, squeezing them closer to my chest. "Some days, when I just couldn't cover up the bruises and cuts…or the dark circles under my eyes…or the—the paranoia and fear and _misery _of it all, it became _worse_ than hell…a kind of endless punishment I never thought I deserved…But I figured…" My voice dropped dangerously low, inaudible if not for Lancer leaning right by my side, "…figured I was managing. And if my parents never knew who I was…then they…they'd never…" I swallowed hard, words caught in my throat. "They…_hated…_Phantom, and if they never knew the truth…they could never hate me….

"could never hurt me

"And I'd…I'd be safe from them."

My head slowly shook back and forth, eyes closed, as a humorless smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

"But I-…I was wrong. _So wrong…"_

A few silent sobs wracked my body, Lancer's hand never leaving my blood-stained shoulder as I struggled to stay in control.

"Do you get it now?" My voice cracked, words choking in my throat as I fought back the wracking sobs. "You believe me, don't you? That I _tried _to be good? …I-I was framed…and controlled…and c-constantly bruised…even then I shouldered it…because I was helping people."

_Because I was helping people._

_Because I _tried _to help._

_Because I _thought _I was helping._

It played like a broken record, my mind looping through the thought time and time again, changing slightly with each passing rendition.

_Because I never_ _really did help._

My head shook listlessly, trying weakly to shake the thought from my mind_. _I raised my eyes to Lancer, taking in the painfully sorrow-filled look that nearly glazed his eyes. All traces of his fear were gone, pure, pitiful empathy taking its place, as they finally accepted what they were seeing. My gaze quickly fell away, his look burning through my mind like acid, as I shrugged off his hand.

"But now…now I don't even know if I was…if what I did was ever right. I-I got what I had coming. _I _wanted to play the hero. _I _wanted to save the town. And _I _wanted to keep it a secret from my parents. It's my fault…all _my _fault…"

The silence hung in the air, my last words echoing off the walls of the steadily chilling room.

_My fault._

"Danny Phantom," Lancer started, his voice scarcely audible with the sad softness to his tone, "saved my class more times than I can count…He's our hero."

I lifted my eyes to him, their surfaces trembling like a scared little child's.

"I…I didn't know he was on our side when the attacks first started…I can…admit that…I mean when the-the mayor said…" Lancer shook his head slightly, dismissing the thought from his head. "But, what I'm trying to say is—" He sighed, hand scratching at his scalp in frustration. "I could never deny what I _saw, _Daniel_. _I saw someone who was fighting for us, someone who was protecting us. E-especially when they featured his stories on the news…when I wasn't responsible for controlling the students in my class…I saw a hero. I think everyone does now."

His eyes ran up and down my broken figure, my knees hugged to my chest again to fight off the biting chill, soaking t-shirt sapping the heat from my body.

"Daniel…what's happened to you…that's not something a hero deserves—not something _you _deserve..."

He paused, head turned slightly.

"…I'm sorry…"

"…Don't…" I whispered weakly, tone dead as I tried to process what he'd said. "Don't say you're sorry. I'm sick of hearing people say they're sorry." I pushed myself up from the floor, hand shaking under me for support as I tried to get to my feet. The room still spun in dizzying circles, forcing me to stand there for a moment, fighting against the darkness creeping into the corners of my vision.

"But Daniel…what you said still doesn't…W-what did you mean by—…_dead?"_"

"I mean Phantom's gone." I answered curtly, black receding slowly from the corners of my vision. "He's…damaged beyond repair. Broken. Powerless. _Useless."_

I sighed, head shaking as I took one wavering step toward the door.

"Amity Park will never see him again."

Another step, getting steadily closer in the heavy silence.

"…But…But you're still—"

I cut him off, raising my palm to him.

"—alive…I know…" My eyes fell to the sopping stain running down the sides of my shirt, evidence of the vanished gash. "Somehow my human half and ghost half got separated…a last ditch effort to keep me…alive I guess."

_Even if I'm still dying._

My head shook, trying to dismiss the thought as I forced myself to continue. "But because the sides are separated…because of the…the damage…my ghost side has no way of healing itself…" I swallowed, eyes never raised to Lancer as I admitted the crushing truth. "…no way of fighting…no way of playing the hero again…That side of me is dead." I pulled my bag from the ground, desperate to leave, to escape this hell. "Phantom's dead…"

My shaking feet carried me to the doorway, the stricken teacher too shocked to protest in any way. Fighting against the instinct to bolt, I paused again by the door. "Do you understand now?…Why you can't tell my parents?...They don't _know _what they did, and if they found out, found out about _everything…_I don't-…Can't even think..."

The floor dipped sharply at the thought, rocking dangerously as I tried to right myself.

"Don't worry, I…I understand." Lancer pushed himself from the floor, sad, careful eyes grounding me to the spot "I promise you, Daniel, I won't tell them. I—everyone—owes you too much for that…I'm…I'm sorry."

"Please…don't be." I whispered back, passing through the open door, numb legs carrying me down the empty hall.

…

I was jarred suddenly from my empty stupor, her delicately bruised hand wrapping tightly in mine. The soft, warm fingers squeezed in my palm, ever so gently, in a vain effort to reach the corner of my mind I was locked in. I could feel her eyes burning into mine from beside me, amethyst irises pleading for a response, but it was a wasted effort, my mind too far gone to actually see them. Instead I kept my gaze trained forward, eyes, and mind, lost to the broken girl next to me. They stayed locked, unfocused, on the brown leather bus seat in front, not daring to see the singed lesions or bruising welts on the arm she held to mine. Some part of me knew there was no way to see then anyway—the scrapes tactfully hidden under her long-sleeved shirt—but the guilt ate through me all the same. No, my mind wasn't focused on that, not on the sallow skin and chipped nails; instead it merely fell to counting the passing seconds.

_235, 236, 237._

Her fingers finally unwound themselves from mine, strength gone in defeat, hand finally falling into her lap as she gave up on reaching me. Guilty gratitude swelled in my stomach, thankful for the fact that she was willing to surrender so easily. Of course, I doubted she was expecting anything other kind of response from me, not with the state they found me in.

The seconds still ticked in my head, sequence and rhythm never wavering as the scene replayed in my mind: The two pairs of shoes beat against the hallway, floor vibrating ever so slightly, as their hazy figures raced to my side. They knelt there, saying something, pleading with me, as one tugged at my arm, trying to get me off the floor. Instead I just sat there with my back to the wall, unseeing eyes staring at the adjacent door, mind completely dead. As much as they worked to reach me, their words were entirely lost, and only the ringing of the last period bell broke through my mind. The sound echoed in my head while the two figures finally wrenched me to my feet. Students started flooding into the halls, excitement permeating through the air for the weekend. In time the crowd thinned, minutes passing as the two figured kept me standing

Senses started to work their way back to my mind, my hearing slowly returning as somehow, _somehow, _I'd managed to tell them.

_Lancer knows. _

The two words barely choking from my mouth before my mind began to shut down again. Sam's horrified eyes still burned in my mind, being the only image to register on my dead eyes, dominating my scattered thoughts. The words sapped what little control I'd regained, and the two managed to lead me down the hall on numb legs, out the door into the chilly air that brought some sense back to my mind. Yet I didn't possess enough strength to protest as the two filed onto the bus behind me, insisting that I couldn't go alone.

The second of the pair—Tucker—sat to Sam's left, not visible in my tunneled vision. At least, I was rather certain he was there, judging by how cramped the seat had become. But unlike Sam, he hadn't bothered with conversation, let alone physical contact, and slowly he faded from my closed reality.

_565, 566, 567_

Part of me desperately wanted to apologize to them—for what I'd said, for how I'd treated them, my guilt mounting as coherence tried to work its way back into my mind. They'd taken the brunt of my anger and frustration they never deserved to bear. The thought twisted in my stomach, guilt gnawing more powerfully at my insides, but that "part" of me that wanted forgiveness was nowhere near strong enough to break through the listless stupor. No conscious bit of my mind seemed able to at this point.

"Danny…"

_987, 988, 989_

"Please, Danny, we're here…" Sam tugged at my hand, managing to pull me from the seat as we followed the red-bereted figure ahead of us. The snow crunched under our feet as Sam pulled me off the bus, its faultless surface giving out under the pressure, unable to bear our weight. Labored steps brought us through the accumulated drift, crushing holes in the no longer flawless snow, until we halted suddenly on the sidewalk, Sam tightening her grip on me.

She turned me to face her, strong, dead eyes boring into mine.

"Danny, are you sure you can do this? Your parents are going to be home and we always…always could head to my house or something."

"No…" My voice cracked slightly, weak from disuse. "I don't…" _I don't want to keep being your burden. _"I can manage…I am…managing." I finished softly, wishing desperately I was a better liar.

She loosened her grip, one gloved hand falling from my shoulder as she started to turn. "Okay…But just remember, we'll be there with you."

"Y-you're coming home with me?" I choked, voice strained as my dead eyes sparked almost with fear.

"We're not leaving you alone, dude," Tucker cut in from the side, resting an arm on my shoulder. "It's okay…"

I pulled myself free from both of them, trudging through the snow with my head down. I couldn't let them see the weakness and frustration mounting in my eyes, how infuriated with myself I was—they'd only worry more—as silent tears dripped down my cheeks, melting the slightest of dents in the snow.

I never bothered to open the door, mind too distant to notice as I phased myself through the unlocked doorknob. Making my way to the stairs, I hardly noticed the door open and shut behind the other two, the news blaring from the living room masking any noise they made. For a moment, I dared to lift my gaze to the adjoining room, catching sight of the two hazmatted people, fiddling with a plethora of faintly glowing tools that had been littered across the floor. Shivers ran down my spine, fear clenching my chest as my eyes drunk in the innocent scene. Such a normal sight never seemed so horrifying: my dad screwing in a few loose bolts on a new invention, my mom calibrating the crosshairs on a scope, goggled eyes looking particularly bug-like as she focused through the disconnected piece. Judging from size and build, it went right along with the gun my dad held.

A few deep breaths got me across to the stairs, still completely unnoticed by the two indulged in their work. I set one foot on the first step, one hand resting on the banister before my attention was quickly yanked back to the living room.

"…_Phantom…"_

_What?_

I whipped my head around, eyes looking past the two toting behind me as my gaze settled on the tv. Two news reporters, a stunningly blond woman and her dark-haired male partner, sat rigidly, posing, through the screen.

"…Day seven since the last confirmed sighting of Amity Park's self-appointed hero and ghost attacks are _still_ on the rise." The woman trilled, like she was announcing the headline to a paper.

…_What?_

"Come on, dude…" Tucker nudged me from behind, voice strained as he tried to push me up the stairs, "let's get out of here."

"…No…" I breathed, eyes widening as they stared at the screen, resisting Tucker's desperate prompting.

"You really don't have t—" Sam cut in from beside, but I silenced her, sticking a finger out with a forceful "shh!"

"That's right Rebecca, as the search for Phantom enters its seventh day officials are _still _no closer to finding the cause for his disappearance." The reporter flashed his gleaming obsidian eyes to the camera, showing a kind of flair that made my stomach twist. "And with the sudden rise in ghost attacks, Amity Park's residents are calling out for their lost hero."

…_What?_

"Tch!"

The voice startled me, breaking me from my trance as my head swung to face my father, his small eyes glaring at the screen. "Spook's finally learned he's going to get what's coming to him when he messes with Jack Fenton!" Dad waved his invention in the air, shaking his fist at the screen. "With this new line of ectoneutralizing cannons we'll run those ghosts out of Amity Park in no time."

"Of course, Dear," my mom encouraged from beside him. She hesitated for a moment, eyebrows suddenly knitting together under the hazmat mask. "I still wish we could have published the results of our research, though." Mom sighed, setting her scope down for a moment. "The data we gathered from Phantom suggests a new breed of ghost no one's studied before. Not to mention the improvements we were able to make with the ectoneutralizing agents from the data…"

"Ah cheer up Baby, we can still publish them if we want."

Now it was my mom's turn to scoff, her arms crossing her chest as she glared at the screen. "Not with the way public opinion is going. We couldn't publish that data without making ourselves pariahs. Phantom has the public on his side." She heaved another heavy sigh, head shaking in annoyance. "Right now they all still think he—I don't know—was horribly injured in some fight 'protecting them.'" Her eyes narrowed further, still visible through the thick goggles. "How do you think they'd take it when we tell them he's physically fine, and just abandoned them? They don't understand the differences between human and ghost integrity. And even if they did, people still love an icon."

Dad grunted, focusing again on his invention as the conversation died.

"…_-gators were able to salvage the contents of the tape. No information regarding these contents has been released to the public at this time, but police have deferred the tape to local ghost experts for their professional analysis." _

"Oh!" My mom jumped from her seat, head whipping around suddenly to face my dad. "The tape, Jack!"

"Don't worry I haven't lost it!" he started defensively. "It's still in the envelope right he—"

"No, Honey, that's not what I meant…"

Dad cocked an eyebrow to her, the action almost lost to me as Sam pulled at my arm, motioning up the stairs.

"Jack, look at the clock. The kids are going to be home soon and we wouldn't want them to—I mean it's our duty to handle things like this as experts, but we wouldn't want our kids to see it too." She bit her lip, pleading eyes trying to get her point across. "We're running out of time to analyze it while we're still alone."

"I got ya…" My dad muttered, pushing himself from the floor as he dug through the manila envelope in his hand. He pulled a tape from its contents, kneeling down by the television as he popped it into the VCR, fiddling with the settings on the box.

The two reporters froze on screen for a moment, their animated discussion suddenly cut away as a grainy, home movie took their place. A plush, purple carpet suddenly filled the screen, picture trailing over the knots in its fibers. The audio crackled suddenly, picking up faint jostling as the camera was lifted higher. The image swung, bobbing upward and to the left as the holder adjusted their grip off screen. It lasted for only a moment, though, the unstable fumbling halting while it let the picture settle.

Yet again the visual was suddenly lost, the harsh glare of the well-lit room blinding the camera's view as it tried to compensate for the light. The flash dimmed quickly, camera adjusting to the brightness as the recorder settled into place. Another slight crackle registered on the audio, the scene swimming into focus on the curly haired girl, happily seated in the middle of the carpet. Her pink dress was creased and wrinkled, riding up her white stockings as she sat crossed legged. A stark contrast grew between the modest leggings and the dress, white nylon dulling as her princess dress sparkled in the sunlight, sequins shimmering across the glossy, flowing fabric. Her curls were smothered under a lopsided "happy birthday" hat, tip pointed to the back wall as the party favor came dangerously close to siding off the back of her head. The large letters on its front, sequined to match the dress, sparkled alongside the pink fabric, catching in the living room light. Her curls bobbed in tune to her rhythmic rocking, completely and utterly oblivious to the camera, as she mouthed the dialogue between the two plastic dolls in her hands. She knit her eyebrows slightly, one doll jumping up and down with her hand as she animated the conversation.

Left, right, left, right. The two dolls bobbed up and down in pattern, each contributing her own part to the imaginary story.

"Hey Rachel…" A voice cooed from behind the camera, suddenly grabbing the attention of the girl's baby blue eyes, blinking slightly at the interruption. "What are you doing?" The audio crackled again, camera shifting as the lens zoomed in quickly on the sequined hat, pulling back again.

"Playing dollies," Rachel answered, voice overflowing with joy as her eyes lit up. The soft brown tendrils bobbed on her head as she set one doll down, grabbing its friend from the carpet.

"And what dolly is that?" The mother's voice chuckled slightly, still fiddling with the controls of the camera.

"Sally," she answered with bravado, pushing herself to her feet to give the camera a clear view of the doll. "She's my birthday present!"

"How did Aunt Jenny _know _that was the dolly you wanted?" The woman laughed, voice full of mock astonishment as she seemed to beam, despite being hidden behind the camera. "Now if the date's on here…" Her voice came out slightly muffled, camera pointing suddenly to the ground as she fiddled with one of the controls. Its view was turned again, whipping around to the kitchen until it stopped to face a slightly balding man seated at the table. He held a newspaper in his hand, coffee cup situated next to the crumbling, messy remnants of a pink-frosted birthday cake, used paper plates and napkins littering the table's wooden surface. Tired eyes shone over his glasses, an honest smile pulling at the corner of his lips as he met the camera. "Yeah, Melly, it should have the date in the corner."

The camera swung back to Rachel, who'd pushed herself from the center of the living room, standing on her tiptoes, sparkling eyes pressed as close to the lens as she could manage.

"And how old are you now, Rachel?"

The child bit her lip, curls bouncing as she rocked on her toes. "I'm…FOUR now!" And she stuck four chubby fingers to the lens, suspiciously smudged with pink frosting.

_No…Don't be… _The mother's laugh echoed in my head, my frozen eyes watching the little girl beam in response. _Don't be…_

Sickening, nauseating dread pulled my stomach to the ground, hands physically trembling on the banister as I watched the scene unfold. My mind screamed that this was wrong, that something _bad _was going to happen, that I should run and hide while I can. But instead I stood frozen to the spot, sweat dripping down my neck as my eyes drank in every detail.

The girl's toothy grin vanished suddenly, her body tensing, as a loud _thud_ was picked up on the audio, the noise slightly muffled as the room quivered. The chandelier hanging over the girl's head shook slightly, glass crystals tinkling against each other as it settled back into place. The camera turned, for a split second, to the father still sitting at the table. Confusion painted his expression, eyes looking around the room for the source of the noise.

"John, Deary, did you hear that?" Her voice quivered slightly, image shifting back to the rocking four-year-old, then darting again to face the kitchen.

The father chewed silently on his lip, hand scratching at his ruffled brown hair. "Yeah…I think Tommy went upstairs...He could just be fooling around up there…"

"Yeah…" The wife responded nervously, still behind camera.

"Sweetheart, where's Tommy?" The mother asked gently, turning the camera back to the bobbing child, not quite hiding the tension in her voice.

Rachel's expression changed, eyebrows knitting almost in annoyance as she puckered her lips. "Tommy left 'cause big boys don't play wif dollies..." She bit her lip, pouting slightly, with her sparkling eyes drinking in the camera. "Mommy, that's _not _true, is it? Tommy can play dollies if he wants!"

"Of course, sweetie," Melly laughed from behind the camera, voice still strained. "I'm sure that deep down your brother would be happy to play dollies with you." She paused, tension building silently. "Tommy should be in the video too." She muttered, still pretending, for Rachel's sake, that the crash from upstairs hadn't fazed her.

The camera lowered slightly, screen shaking as Melly seemed to loosen the camcorder's straps from her hand. "Wait here a moment; I'm going to go find your brother and see if he wants to be in our movie."

Rachel nodded vigorously, eyes shining with enthusiasm. The camera stayed focused on her beaming face for a moment, vibrant eyes drawing the camera's attention. But my attention was wrenched elsewhere, heart hitting the floor as I caught the slightest waver in the camera's corner. The edge of the ceiling seemed to ripple, the heel of a platform boot phasing through the trembling current, just scarcely visible in the top-right corner of the screen. The ankle that followed, glowing green and laced with fishnet stockings, remained visible for a split second, disappearing from existence as the spectral owner phased it invisible. The adjacent wall rippled slightly, ghost vanishing as soon as she'd appeared.

Yet the ghost's entrance went unnoticed. Rachel's toothy grin never left the camera, cocking her head slightly to the lens as the specter vanished. Even the mother, her vantage point clear, did not react, camera still jostling, frustrated fingers apparently trying to unvelcro its straps.

My eyes went wide, blood pulsing against my ears, as I stood there fighting, _hoping, _to stop the inevitable. Kitty had been in that house, and my fingers dug rivets into the banister, knowing what I'd see next.

Time slowed to a crawl on the video, its wavering suddenly halted, screen going rigid, as Rachel tensed along with the camera. The house shuddered under some unseen force, lights overhead dimming for a second with the shaking room. The young girl's eyes went wide, head whipping around to face the back wall. Her face was lost to the camera, lens only catching her soft brown curls swishing back into place. The image from the camera lasted only a second longer before the entire screen became engulfed in a blinding glare. The light sensor went wild, trying desperately to compensate for the spot of all-consuming darkness that emanated from the screen's center, composing the shapeless ghost who dove playfully through the ceiling. The creature focused on the camera, if only for a moment, his depthless eyes burning brightly in the lens as he threw it a cocky grin. He whipped his head back to the wall, shooting through the barrier in pursuit, Johnny 13's shadow gone, as soon as he'd appeared.

The camera adjusted quickly to the change, the rest of the room losing its glare as the periphery fell back into focus. The tiny, curly haired figure reappeared, head still turned away as the scene settled, just in time to catch the sputtering green sparks that arced and fizzled across the ceiling, spreading like a disease to the wall a second later. Dents materialized in the tiles of the ceiling, drywall buckling and cracking in the torrent, dying sparks staining both surfaces a rotting black as slowly, ever so slowly, they both started to crumble.

And slowly, ever so slowly, they both started to give out.

Two terrified eyes whipped back to the camera, mouth hanging open slightly as the hat slid from the back of her head. She shut her mouth for just a moment, trembling pupils leaving the camera's lens as they trailed upward, looking directly at the woman standing behind it.

"…Mommy?" She whispered, her worried, shimmering eyes the focus of the camera only a second longer.

Until the ceiling gave, a sickening _crack _ripping through the audio, the screen going dead—permanently silenced— by the tumult of debris that buried the house.

_No…_

The picture went dead, fizzling static dominating the now-gray glow.

_No…_

My stomach twisted, knees shaking as my eyes went wider.

"…_Mommy?"_

Her fear echoed in my mind, the quiet, confused terror that melted her voice ripping through my body. Every thought in my mind shattered, smashing to jagged, broken remnants that sliced through every fiber of my being, mind crumbling to nothingness as the voice destroyed the last of my control.

I didn't need to ask, didn't need any one to tell me what had followed, what had happened that day.

She was dead.

I could see her in my head: sparkling pink dress buried beneath the rubble, shimmering bright eyes permanently snuffed out, with the last terrifying moment of her life caught on camera.

_Her life gone, because no one was there to save her._

_Her body crushed, because _I _hadn't been there to stop it._

_Ghost fighting was _my _burden. _My _responsibility…_

_Kitty._

_My fault…_

_Johnny's shadow._

_My fault…_

_Her tiny body crushed under the decimated rubble._

…_**My fault…**_

Feeling gone from my body, I hadn't noticed my two friends rest their hands on my shoulder. Their presence was dead to me, unrealized, until I violently ripped myself from their grasp, heart beating in my throat as I raced up the stairs as fast as I could.

Crashing,

stumbling,

I ran for my room,

ran away from the pain and guilt of what I saw,

ran from what I could never unsee.


	18. Confrontation PS

_**Chapter 18**! Wow...super mega late update...sorry ^^; But uh...in my defense it's been done since Sunday despite the fact that I was in California (AWESOME vacation, thanks for asking ^^) but I couldn't get it up/fanfic was down/yadda yadda yadda I'm sure there was some important reason so I won't complain. This HAS however been up on deviantart since Sunday, and if something like this happens again, I'll put completed chapters up on dA first (link in my profile). _

_To everyone who's followed my story this far, you're incredible and it makes me geniunely giddy to think people enjoy reading this, so thank you! And a special shout out to Ecokitty who's been trying to help me get rid of the darn "XP Anti-spyware" virus on my laptop. I'll figure it out eventually!_

_Enjoy!_

...

...

Sam and Tucker tentatively pushed the door open, concerned eyes peeking in as I pretended not to see, head buried in my pillow. The hinges creaked softly, grating against the dead silence in the air, until Sam finally spoke.

"Danny…" She whispered hesitantly, voice drawing nearer as I wrapped the edges of the pillowcase around my ears. "A-are you-?"

"When?" I demanded suddenly, voice muffled through the suffocating fabric.

Sam hesitated, and I could almost feel her shiver as the temperature in the room dropped sharply, its icy chill eating through the comforter in response to the anger and shame boiling inside me. I didn't want comfort this time; I didn't want forced smiles and fake laughs—I was sick of that—Right now I just wanted answers, as coldly and bluntly as I could get them.

"…When what, Danny?"

"When did…_that _happen? Th-the little girl…and her family…" I yanked my head from the pillow, freezing Sam to the spot with an acid, tearstained glare. "_When?"_

She backed off, lip quivering slightly as her eyes darted away. "L-last Wednesday…" Her trembling gaze shot to Tucker for support, but he stood frozen at the doorway, face a mask of uncertainty and horror. "Tucker and I…w-we didn't realize in time that Kitty and Johnny were here…The ghost sensor we got from the lab, i-it didn't pick them up right away…" Her voice started to choke up, hands swatting absently at the tears running down her cheek.

"We're _really _sorry, Danny…" The streaming mascara smudged against her cheek, tears still dripping onto the carpet despite her fervent wiping. "We're _really, really, _sorry. Johnny's shadow—i-it was just tracking Kitty…It wasn't trying to…I mean it wasn't supposed to—didn't mean to-…" A shuddering sob wrenched past her lips, hands moving to wrap around her body. "Don't be mad. We didn't mean to l-let it happen, Danny!"

My glare melted, heart disintegrating as painful guilt took its place, watching Sam's so strong composure crumble before me. Her sallow cheeks, her fading hair, the dark, bruising bags underneath her dead eyes—it all sliced clear through my mind. I gritted my teeth in frustration, hands trembling at my sides as I was rammed with the truth that _I _was hurting her. _Badly_. And so long as she still believed in me—in a way I couldn't deserve—that torture would never end.

"No…_No, _Sam…I-I didn't mean that you…" My eyes started trembling, frustrated tears freely flowing down my salty cheeks.

_My fault…Not yours…_

"No, Sam, don't be—It's MY fault!"

A shuddering sob escaped her throat as she looked deep into my eyes, quivering irises pleading like a small puppy's. "How could it be—"

"This…_Everything _is my fault, Sam!" My voice cracked, suppressed pain curving my pitch upward. "It's _mine! All mine! Why the hell wouldn't it be?"_

"Dude…You can't think that—" Tucker whispered hesitantly, disbelief quieting his voice.

"Oh I can!" I snapped back, freezing Tucker again, mid-step toward Sam and me.

"Ghost fighting is my _responsibility, _remember?_ Not yours. _And that makes it_ my_ fault that she die—" Words choked themselves back in my throat, unable to admit the truth as it rammed me full-force in my stomach. I wrenched my hand to the torn, fading jacket Tucker had loaned me, clutching at the phantom pains in my chest as I lost the strength to continue.

"Danny, please don't…please don't…" Sam's voice grated against my ears…so _hurt, so pained, so lost…_All because of me.

"The others…" I choked out, voice rasping. "What happened to them…? What happened to the family…?"

Both teens glanced at each other, eyes averted from mine as the silence suffocated me.

"_WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM_?"

"They _died_, Danny!" Sam snapped, anger finally making its way to her dead irises. "E-except for the son…T-tommy…H-he wasn't…crushed." She swallowed down a sob rising in her throat, eyes dead again as she collapsed onto the bed, head in her hands. "They're dead…"

Tucker finally made his way to her side, one sympathetic hand resting on her shoulder. "The news isn't telling people much. Just that the roof collapsed in a suspected ghost attack…but when Sam and I got there…Dude, there wasn't anything we could do for them." He wrapped a second hand around Sam as she finally broke down, shuddering sobs wracking her body.

"…And me?" I whispered, curled around myself, fighting the torrents of guilt, struggling to control the pulsing anger. "What are they saying about me?"

"That you're…gone." Tucker's words trembled slightly, forcing control into his voice. "The news isn't talking about anything else right now…just how ghosts keep attacking and you never show..."

_No…this isn't right._

My nails started digging into my palms, teeth grinding together as I lost the slightest grasp I had of control, letting the anger coursing through my veins run rampant. "…_Damn it!" _I cursed, banging my fist—hard—against the night table, upsetting the lamp until it teetered near the edge. But it wasn't enough; the anger wouldn't leave. Instead it consumed me, ripping me apart from the inside out. "DAMN IT!"

I whipped myself around on the bed, sending a forceful kick at the night table, effectively toppling it with a satisfying crash.

I was breathing through my teeth, hands still shaking with nowhere else to vent. My eyes darted around the room, sparking with the chilling presence of my spectral energy as they took in the two almost terrified faces watching me. I squeezed them shut against the torrents of pain running through my foot. My eyelids quivered—held closed to the point of pain, as I tried to keep my balance in the spinning room.

"Damn it…

"Damn it…

"..._D-damn it_…"

Tucker had pulled himself from Sam's side, slightly trembling arms restraining mine to my side. He fought to keep eye contact with me, pupils trembling behind his glasses as my eyes darted around for an escape, teeth still gritted together. "Danny, this was out of your control, okay? There's nothing you _could _have done to stop it! Sometimes bad things just happen and it doesn't have to be anyone's fault…" His eyes softened, finally trapping my gaze. "You got screwed over…majorly…and that doesn't make any of this your fault."

"Let go of me…"

"Danny…" Tucker tried reasoning, loosening his grip somewhat.

"I said _let go!" _I seethed through my teeth, my venomous glare freezing him to the spot._ "_I'm not above blasting you clean through this wall!"

Tucker nearly jumped back, arms pulled from mine in an instant as feral sparks arced over my wrists. The hurt that radiated from his eyes shook me, but I refused to let it show, rubbing my left arm where he'd gripped me.

"Please…just go…I need some time alone."

"Danny…we promised you we'd never leave…" Sam whispered from the bed, forcing her breathing to calm as she grabbed my shaking hand, its fizzling power dissipating as she pulled it into both her palms. "We're…here for you…"

_No…_

I wrenched my gaze away from Tucker, glaring down at the slight streams of mascara raked across her cheeks. Her eyes shook, surfaces trembling in fear, in pain, in desperation. That look—her look—tore something inside me; it ripped through some thinly built barrier and crumbled in a wave of pure hatred.

"Yeah, well…Ever consider that _maybe _I don't want you here?" Sam flinched at the look in my eyes, shrinking back like a kicked puppy. I didn't hesitate though, the confusion roiling inside me converting itself to pure hatred. "You think you're helping, but you're not! Neither of you is! Just…just _get out!_…"

Sam swallowed hard, fighting back the tears in her eyes. "Fine…" She whispered, pulling herself from the bed as she walked listlessly to the shut door.

She threw one desperate glance in my direction, tortured eyes looking for some kind of apology in mine. But my mind was far beyond that; I was tired of seeing her so hurt, tired of watching her break down—or worse, watching her fight so hard to stay strong. Now though, she couldn't help me, couldn't make things better with that tortured look in her eyes. Some part of me fought it, begging me to yield, to let my last two crutches of support stay. However, that part was easily silenced, shut down with the knowledge that I couldn't handle their pain.

No, I couldn't handle their disappointment.

I couldn't handle my failure reflected in those dead eyes.

Cowardly, cruel—I know—but the guilt simply broke me.

Her gaze fell to the carpet, the heel of her palm raking across her cheek one last time, until she turned to the door.

"Just remember, Danny…" She muttered, hand wrapped around the knob. "We…we tried…"

Tucker stood trapped, confused, in the center of the room. He shot me an almost guilty look, mouth opening as if to say something. But instead he shut it, uncertain eyes trailing to the carpet as he followed behind Sam.

The door slammed shut behind them, officially destroying the last of my grip on reality. For now, I was left to simmer in my own mind.

"…_Mommy?" _

_She's gone._

"_And how old are you now, Rachel?"_

"_I'm…FOUR now!"_

_Crushed underneath the rubble._

"_Sally! She's my birthday present!"_

_They're dead because of me._

I crumbled to the floor, head in my shaking hands.

_Why didn't I save them?_

My breathing came in shorter rasps, eyes losing their focus.

_Why couldn't I save them?_

"…Damn it…" I whispered into the carpet, tears pricking at my eyes, completely and utterly alone. My thoughts screamed into the silence, no floodgate to stop the outpour of raw emotions that threatened to finally destroy my mind.

From some far removed part of my mind, I heard the soft rap at the door. Yet the thought was shoved out of existence, banished in the tumult of shame that wracked my body. I ignored it, burying myself deeper in my own mind. From my place so far removed, I scarcely caught the gentle click of my bedroom door opening.

"…Danny?..."

I wrenched my head from my hands, trembling eyes darting around the room for the source of the noise. They locked on the blue hazmat outline that swam into my vision, her unmasked face barely peeking through the crack. I could feel the color draining from my own as she glanced to the toppled night stand, then back to me. "Danny, I…I didn't know you were home yet…"

I quickly pulled myself into a sitting position, trembling legs crossed with my eyes boring into the carpet.

"W-what happened?" She whispered, trying and failing to meet my gaze as I stared holes in the floor. "I heard shouting, a-and crashing…and Sam and Tucker—they just…"

Her voice trailed off, words dissipating as she lost sight of how to continue, hoping I could fill the gaps. But I didn't look at her, didn't acknowledge her, too broken to even pretend anymore.

"T-they seemed pretty upset…Were you fighting?"

"…Something like that…" I muttered, forcing any kind of response past my lips, raising my eyes just high enough to meet my mom.

It was a wasted effort, though, working against me as I couldn't hide the flinch on contact. I watched in growing dread as her face fell, eyes quivering ever so slightly as she threw her gaze to the ground for a split second.

"Sweetie, why don't…why don't you come down with me? …I want to show you something…" Her tone was careful, overly cautious, with eyes that pleaded for some kind of connection.

My head was shaking, thought-stricken mind trying to resist, to stay as far away from her as possible. Her eyes—_those _eyes—those were the ones that…

"…Okay…" I scarcely whispered, resistance crumbling to broken shards at my feet. I tried desperately to hide the fear in my eyes as I pushed myself from the floor, yet I could feel the twinges of terror pricking at the corners each time she spoke. Her voice cut through me like a razorblade, mercilessly wrenching images to the front of my mind I never wanted to see again.

_The scalpel. The restraints. The saw._

Shivers ran down my spine, my arms wrapping around each other instinctually as I hid the tears in my eyes, following the woman down the stairs. She was speaking, saying something to me, but I couldn't focus my mind on what it actually was.

"_Now lie there, stop talking, drop the act, and this will be over as soon as possible."_

_No…not again…It's not happening again…_

Suddenly the world seemed to dip a little, wrenching me closer to reality. I held fast to the banister, nails digging into it as my legs threatened to give out, the floorboards spinning beneath me.

"Danny…?"

Her voice again—it ripped straight through my mental barrier, wrenching my eyes up to face the woman standing in the center of the living room. She shot me a somewhat pained smile, forcing a cheerful façade as she took in my shaking figure. "…Y-you okay?"

"Yeah…Fine…" I muttered, pulling my hands from the banister as I risked a few steps forward, never quite entering the living room.

"Y-your father and I have been working on a new generation of ecto-lasers…" Another forced smile brushed her lips, forced bravado in her quivering, hesitant voice. "They handle really well…And we thought maybe y-you'd like to come try it out with us…We could do it together."

_No…Oh god no…_

She stopped over a pile of equipment, pieces thrown haphazardly across the floor as she bent down, digging through the mess.

_No, please…_

"Ah ha," She pulled her head up, still with her back to me as she dusted off _something _on the floor. "This is the only one we've used so far, but it's shown a lot of potential. I'm kind of proud of it actually…"

My eyes went wide, hands trembling at my side as she pulled a large bazooka from the mess of equipment. She hitched it on her shoulder, swiveling to face me—pointing it straight in my direction—as she continued. "It's not as heavy as it looks, and we thought maybe you'd like—Danny?" Her voice broke, eyebrows arching high in concern as her eyes darted across my face.

The gun…_that _gun…I had no proof, no evidence even to back the thought, but my mind refused to see anything else—the Fentonscrambler.

It had to be, the way it hummed, the way it shined in the light—so _sleek, so deadly_.

_No…_

Cold fear flooded through my system, pricking the hair on my neck as my mind processed the _thing _in front of me.

_The second shock to my body froze every muscle. My diaphragm, already struggling from the first zap, had fallen into complete paralysis. Panic soaked every ounce of my body, my lungs slowly searing from the deprivation. _Focus. Focus!_ But the hold over my body was long gone. Despite any of my desperate attempts, my chest refused to rise. I was literally drowning where I lay._

My legs shook violently under me, heart pounding out of my chest as my brain was flooded with a single command—move! Yet the message came back scrambled, legs quivering with halfhearted twitches, leaving me to do little more than tremble where I stood. Fear gripped me like a vice, anchoring me to the spot as my thoughts dissipated into all-consuming terror. Finally, though, my feet responded, twitches escalating to steps as I started backpedalling, stumbling, until I hit the stairs. Both legs nearly buckled from beneath, scarcely holding me up as the scrambler came closer.

_No…_

My breathing came in deep gasps, fueling the erratic pace of my heart as it threatened to beat out of my chest. That beating—my breathing—Suddenly, I became all too aware of the jagged in-and-out of my chest—of how easily one blast could rob me of that, permanently.

"Danny?" Her voice broke, fear dripping from the sound. A split second later, the gun clattered to the ground, its holder losing her grip as she rushed to my side. The frantic pattering of feet against tile pounded in my ears as I started to lose focus, fear consuming everything. Distantly, though, her form swam into view, holding one hesitant hand out as she tried desperately to make contact, her scared eyes darting across my face. "Danny, are you okay?"

And she dropped her hand onto my shoulder.

"No!" I nearly yelped, batting her hand away with one frantic swipe, my heart skipping a beat at her poisonous touch. "I-I'm fine…" I breathed, immediately seeing the severity of my mistake, the deep hurt that was suddenly etched into her eyes, "just please don't touch me…" I risked glancing again at her face, cringing at the unshed tears pooling in her gentle eyes.

"Please, Danny…W-what's wrong?" Her eyes bore into me, pained desperation dulling their surfaces.

"I-…Nothing's wrong…" I rasped, forcing my breathing under control, fighting the part of my brain that commanded me to run. "I'm just…stressed is all…and tired."

Mom's lower lip quivered, momentarily lost as she stared into my face. "No…you're lying…" She lifted her hand close to my cheek, watching with pain in her eyes as I cringed away from her touch. "Please, Danny, why won't you _talk_ to us?"

I quickly pulled at the zipped jacket, hand tugging desperately against the soft material. I couldn't open my mouth to speak, silently hoping she wasn't able to see the bruising on my neck or the ectoplasm staining my shirt underneath.

"Sweetheart, you…this isn't _like _you…" She finally offered, speaking in barely more than a whisper. Her voice pleaded, quivering with pent up emotion. Hesitation filled her eyes as she dared to finally push her hand out, brushing my cheek softly before I slapped it away. "You won't…you won't talk to me anymore..." The tears teetering at the edge finally spilled onto her cheeks, marring her face with a kind of pain she had no right to wear. "…W-Why?..."

"What do you mean?...I am talking to you…" The sound barely made it past my lips, mouthing my response more than anything.

"You're not, Danny!…This whole week you've been…gone. It's scary to see you like this, t-to see you hurting like this." Her voice shook, trembling eyes losing their strength. "When I try to talk to you…you shut down." Her eyes darted across my face, their light dulled in worry. "_Why? _…Why can't you tell me?"

I couldn't do this. I couldn't take looking into her eyes—_those _eyes—that tore me open on the operating table. I could feel the tears welling behind my own, but I bit them back, balling my fists as I fought to remain in control.

"Because nothing IS wrong! I'm _fine! _Now stop…j-just stop asking…" I snarled at her, subtly leaning back as I fell on my crutch—cold fury.

"Danny look at yourself!" My mother snapped, startling me as I lost whatever little grip I had on control. "You're not…you're _not _fine! You're…hurt, and I need to know-…Whatever it is that's hurting you, I just…I just want to help…"

_Really? You didn't seem to keen on helping when you were ripping. me. open!_

"I want to make it better…"

"Don't…just don't…" I muttered, throwing my gaze to the ground.

The silence hung over us for a moment, locking my mom and me in a stalemate neither of us knew how to break.

"MADS! I'm pretty sure that was the last of the 9-volt batteries but I think if we mod…if…y…" My dad's pounding footsteps grew louder, finally halting as he reached the top of the basement stairs. His day glow orange suit came into view as he swiveled to face us, realizing just then that I was here. "Hey…Danny…" His lip twitched upward in a kind of forced smile. "…didn't know you were home…"

He glanced to Mom, then back to me, confusion eating into his features as he chewed on his lip. "Do you…wanna help your mom and me with our new equipment? The uncharged stuff won't work without new batteries but we could always…" He trailed off, catching sight of my slowly shaking head. My gaze bore him down, rocking steadily with a clear 'no'.

His mouth hung open slightly, struggling to find a way to continue. "Really?...It's just down in the lab…w-we wanted to show you…"

_The lab…_

The color drained from my face, pupils trembling as I forced myself to keep eye contact with my dad. "No…I'm sure…"

The smile on my dad's lips faltered, worry eating into his expression as he watched my skin turn white. He hesitated by the basement stairs, finally finding the strength to work his way over.

_No…don't come closer._

He halted next to my mom, wrapping one protective hand on her shoulder as I fought every cell in my body that commanded me to _run. _"Oh I know that ghost fighting's not really your thing, but we could make this a fun family activity! Just the three of us…Doesn't that sound nice?" The forced smile was back on his face, dropping instantly as I lost my desperate battle, legs pushing me back up the stairs.

I could literally feel the terror soaking through my eyes as I stared the two of them down, sickening wrongness twisting inside of me as I realized how _hurt _they both looked. "No…" I muttered, trailing up a few more stairs. "No…" _Get away._

_Get away._

"Get away…" I whispered, stomach twisting as I felt the words actually tumble out of my mouth.

"But Danny…w-we just…" My dad hung one arm out in front of him, listlessly trying to stop me. "I didn't mean…"

I was going to break right here; I was done, finished, and robbed of the strength to continue. Small sounds crept through my shattered thoughts: a creaking door, a soft voice, the gentle thud of something hitting the floor.

"_Danny?"_

I finally focused on the open front doorway, orange hair swimming into view as I caught the slightest trace of shock on my sister's face. The look vanished in an instant, Jazz slowly making her way across the hall, backpack forgotten at her feet, with a serene, almost happy look on her face. She fiddled with the pink cell phone in her hand, muttering softly, ("Sorry, Jake, can I call you back?") before shutting it and stowing it in her pocket.

"Danny, I finally got the name of that NASA simulation site I was telling you about. Jake says the graphics could be better, but the control system is pretty accurate; I'll show you." Her smile dropped as she shot glares at the two figures standing by the stairwell, pointedly ignoring them as she grabbed my arm, pulling me the rest of the way up the stairs. My parents were left dumbstruck at the bottom, Mom whispering softly as Jazz pulled me out of the conversation.

"…_therapist?" _My ears scarcely caught the sound as my parents disappeared from sight. My feet stumbled beneath me, hauled into my room as Jazz shot me a concerned look.

"What happened?" She almost mouthed, purposefully keeping her voice low as she glanced at the toppled night stand.

_What happened? I'm dying. I'm a failure. People are getting killed because of me. And I just tore into the two people who've done nothing but help me since this started._

My mouth opened and closed a few times, explanations hanging well out of my grasp. "I…" I started, head shaking steadily. "I-it's nothing really…I'll tell you later."

"Hey Danny?" My father's voice echoed up the stairs, and Jazz broke from my side, making to close the door in disgust. "The phone's for you…" he continued, sounding almost unsure of himself. "It's Vlad Masters…"

Jazz froze with her hand on the knob, head whipping around to face me as her eyes widened in shock.

"He says he wants to talk to you."


	19. Strength PS l PR

Chapter Ninete-! *is shot for royally late update* Uh, sorry...My computer was completely incapacitated for a week or two due to some stupid virus, and on top of that I got lazy ^^;. One quick note I would like to add first (incase it's not clear) the terms "active energy" and "active ectoplasm" are used interchangeably; they mean the same thing. Also, I'm sorry that it's gotten a little unclear which chapters are past and which are present (entirely my fault: sorry!) so I'm going to format the titles of each chapter to end in either "**PS**" for **past**, or "**PR**" for **present**. It'll have both in the proer order in the time changes.

My thanks go out to Anneriawings, who spent 2 hours on a schoolnight coaching me on how to (successfully) remove the virus that was plaguing my computer! And to Ecokitty, who got my lazy butt in action to keep writing! Thanks~

Enjoy please, and reviewers, as always, are loved!

...

…_Vlad? _His name echoed in my mind, sending icy shivers down my body as it wrenched forward possibilities I didn't want to think about.

_What does he want?_

My feet started moving of their own accord, Jazz forgotten at my side as I turned away.

"Danny, I—Where are you going?" she hissed, gripping my arm and effectively anchoring me to the spot. I strained against her for a moment, but quickly gave in, her hold loosening a bit when I turned back.

I stared into her clouded eyes, dropping my gaze to the floor at the jolt of guilt that rammed into my heart.

"Phone's for me…" I mumbled, nerves eating into my stomach as I eyed the empty hallway.

Jazz loosened her fingers, freeing my arm as they tightened around the fabric of my sleeve. I dared to look in her direction, eyes drinking in her gaping mouth, the incredulous look in her eyes.

"You're honestly going to answer him? _Vlad?" _Her eyes burned with a kind of pent up frustration, simmering in her hazy irises and emphasized by the dark shadows underlining them. "Stay here. I'll get it and tell him where he can shove his end of the—"

_Don't answer it!_

"No, I-! J-Jazz it's not like that…" I stammered, effectively freeing my sleeve as I grabbed her wrist instead, a misplaced chill seeping into my skin. She dropped her gaze to her tightly bound wrist, pulling her eyes to mine with a softer look in them, confusion shining in their surfaces.

_Just calm down. Everything's fine…_

My grip loosened slightly, head shaking with the knowledge that logically, I shouldn't be afraid. Yet paranoia still gripped me, as I fought it back with a few deep breaths.

Honestly though, I didn't want her finding out this way, finding out what Vlad knew. Eventually, it would be _my_ responsibility to tell her, but I couldn't yet, not until I had to.

I swallowed painfully, words slipping from my grasp as she eyed me suspiciously, one eyebrow arched in question.

"He's…trying to help me." I choked out, finally letting the thin fabric of her sleeve slip from between my fingers.

"Vlad?" Jazz snorted, both eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Why would he be trying to-…" She trailed off suddenly, words dying in her throat as her eyes widened. She locked her gaze on me, eyes flickering with fear. "But wait, he-…Danny, how does he know?"

_Crap._

"Well it's not that…" _Say something. _"…not like he…" _Anything! "_…I m-mean he…" but the words wouldn't come, my breath dying in my throat, guilty eyes darting to the floor.

"He what?..." Jazz whispered back.

_Lie._

"I mean that he doesn't know…everything…not really," I lied through my teeth, wrenching my eyes from the carpet until they were forcibly locked on my sister. "I mean he's only…only trying to help with the ghost fighting. That's it."

Something twisted deep inside me, an uncomfortable knot forming in my chest. _Why? Why am I shoving everyone away? Jazz, Sam, and Tucker…they all just want to help. _

Her eyes still burned in mine, and I continued.

"Just since…since his popularity as mayor is…is…" My voice died again, strength gone as I watched Jazz's eyes harden in suspicion, brow furrowed. "Damn it…" I cursed under my breath, hand running nervously through my hair. "He saw my ghost form, Jazz…saw me transform…"

Her look remained unchanged for a moment, frozen in place as my words sunk in. Slowly though, her eyes widened, mouth falling open, her expression changing so steadily I could have been watching a time lapse sequence.

"…_How?..."_

I bit my lip, absently twisting my fingers together as I tried to pull myself away from her. "Vlad, he…he showed up today…wanted to know what had happened to me." I balled my fists at my sides, hands forcibly kept apart as I tried to calm myself. "When he realized I couldn't…that I wouldn't…go ghost…He just wanted a fight is all…" I grimaced slightly at the horror on Jazz's face, her complexion quickly draining of color. "…and I gave him one," my eyes fell to the floor, painfully aware of each passing second my dad was forced to wait. "Well…I tried to…" I half-joked, humor falling flat in my emotionless, dead voice.

"…No…" Jazz slowly shook her, her pained eyes pinning me to the spot. "…Danny, you…you didn't…" Her voice died weakly in disbelief, her desperate worry dissolving me on spot.

I lifted my hand to her, fingers trembling as I tried to bridge the space between us. Instead my fingers curled in on themselves, falling back to my side as I dropped my eyes to the ground.

_I can explain this to her later. I can make it right then. I won't keep worrying her like this._

"I have to get the phone," I muttered faintly, literally pushing past her as I did my best to ignore the pained and lifeless look in her eyes.

_It's a curse really… like everything I touch dies…_

Sam, Tucker, Jazz…It wasn't right. _I _wasn't right, for what I'd done to them. I was being childish; I was being weak; and they didn't deserve to put up with it.

_I'll make it right for them…_

I passed the lab with chills running down my spine, suddenly wrenched back to reality at the bloodcurdling noises pervading from the basement. A high pitched screech blasted through the open doorway, some unseen instrument squealing and shrieking, dying suddenly with a sharp clatter echoing from the floor. Instantly the noise started again, its friction-filled screaming filling the air again, but I pulled my mind away from it. The thought was shoved to the back of my head, my focus set on the kitchen phone that hung in my dad's uncertain hand.

He held it out to me as I came nearer, clearly trying to keep his distance as he stared me down with hurt and confusion in his eyes.

"Hey, Danny…Vladdy's, uh…trying to write up some new curfew bill or something…New ghost protocol with the…invasions lately…" He smiled weakly, clearly trying to measure my reaction. "He uh…asked for your opinion first though…teen's point of view…before he passes anything…"

My hand drifted to the phone, fingers tingling as they brushed my dad's palm in the exchange. I pulled my hand back, straining the phone cord with some small spark of fear dancing in my dead eyes. Quickly though, I wiped the expression from my face, mind spinning with the potential consequences if Dad saw too much. He simply stared back at me though, eyes almost quivering on his befuddled expression. Slowly, he backed away, hand flying to the nape of his neck as he hovered.

"Hello?" I whispered into the phone, thoughts churning as I dropped my gaze from Dad, focusing on the phone.

Silence met me from the other end, line crackling slightly in the quiet until,

"Daniel I…I think I might have some answers—or, explanations at least." Vlad started, his words sounding a bit rushed. "For the time being though, I won't expect any response from you, not until Jack leaves. Listen closely, and ask any questions you have once he's gone. He shouldn't be able to overhear my voice."

"Okay…" My voice broke slightly, and I took a deep breath in a desperate attempt to calm my racing heart.

"Good…First of all I did some research into…"

I blinked, Vlad's voice going over my head as an uncomfortable feeling settled in my stomach. I glanced around the room, eyes shooting across the walls.

_How does Vlad know Dad's still here?_

The question rammed me in the gut, and I whipped my head around to face my dad, watching him flinch and shrink back a bit from my gaze. He shuffled his feet slightly, lips puckering with his eyes looking away. His hand rose hesitantly, thumb motioning toward the living room as he opened his mouth. But instead of speaking, he was left standing in silence, his lip quivering slightly, words beyond his reach. Eventually, he gave in, acting on the hand signal, and backing awkwardly into the next room, eyes still not quite meeting mine.

"…the ectoplasm shou—"

"Vlad how did you know my dad was still in the room?" I challenged almost bitterly, realizing with a pang of guilt that I hadn't caught a word he said.

Silence met me on the other side of the phone, broken as Vlad issued a deep sigh. I could clearly picture him slumping his shoulders in defeat.

"Keep in mind I AM attempting to help you as I say this, but…I've been keeping your house under surveillance."

"Surveill-? You bugged my house?" I seethed, the anger not quite pulsing through my body as I had expected. The bitterness never quite hit, my mind too preoccupied to really care what Vlad had done.

"…Yes, Daniel, all of the main rooms are under surveillance. I remind you again I'm trying to be helpful."

But I almost didn't catch the end of his sentence, focus gone at the chilling though running through my mind.

All _the main rooms?_

My heart sunk to the ground, cold dread pulsing through my veins as the possibility hit me.

"But, n-no…w-wait…" I started, voice trailing as I felt my fingers go numb, "the bugged rooms…does that mean you…?" I swallowed hard, fighting to continue. "The lab…Does that include the lab?"

Silence met me again, thick with the uncomfortable tension as Vlad struggled to answer.

"Daniel, I just…See, I…" He breathed into the phone, tone almost dead as he continued. "Yes, Daniel…that includes the lab."

_Then did he…?_

"I don't spend every waking moment monitoring your family mind you," Vlad countered almost defensively, "but I can access any archived tape in the computer's database."

_No…_

"T-then did you…did you see…?" My stomach twisted, cold terror eating into my mind as I recalled the nightmarish scene.

Silence. This time, it seemed to eat straight through me.

"Daniel, I…I'm sorry." His voice was strained, marred by some grating emotion. _Remorse?_ "What they did I…I never would have thought they'd even be capable-…never thought they could…seem so-…What they did, Daniel…was….inhuman," he finished almost weakly.

_Ya think?_

"…I'm sorry…" he continued, playing like a broken record. "T-that kind of…torture…I-I can't even imagine…"

_Stop it…please. Stop telling me you're sorry…_

"Why are you calling?" I choked out, voice cold as fear drenched my mind.

"I told you I…I have some answers for you."

Vlad paused, but I refused to break the silence, forcing him to continue with a heavy sigh.

"I think I know what's…causing this. Based on the tape, I was able to locate and take some of the tools your parents were using."

"Locate?"

"I took some equipment from the lab earlier."

I shook my head, nearly scoffing at his answer. _Great, Vlad's been spying on my family _and _breaking into the house? Of all the people to have on my side…_

"The coating is a mixture of several different chemicals, but I…I was able to identify the main ectoplasmic inhibitor, for both their equipment and the Fentonscrambler."

The breath caught in my throat, heart pounding despite my immobilized lungs as I waited for Vlad to continue.

"It's a heavily concentrated form of Ectoranium."

I blinked, feeling my eyebrows furrow in confusion."Oh what?..."

"Ectoranium, Daniel. It repels ectoplasm. Your parents' specter deflector uses minute traces of it."

I bit my lip, eyes darting quickly to the other room, confirming that my Dad wasn't in earshot.

"Repel?...But that…doesn't make sense. Why should it-?" I gripped the phone tightly, thoughts turning. "The specter deflector…It just shocks me…It's never—never _poisoned me!_" I shook my head, recalling the mother-son "science convention" Vlad set up a few months back. I had gotten plenty of first hand experience with the specter deflector there. "So why is this…'Ectoranium'…k-killing me now?"

Vlad paused, seeming to wrack his brain for an explanation. "In simplest terms, Ectoranium and ectoplasm behave like polar and non polar substances in nature, such as water and oil for example. They naturally reject one another. But they do not react quite so…simply; in fact, their reaction is incredivly violent. They're both extremely high energy substances, and contact between the two releases enormous amounts of ectoplasmic power, which creates the spark in the specter deflector."

My eyes trailed down slowly to my left hand, free fingers turning as my mind wrenched forward memories of the shock from the Fentonscrambler.

"I still don't see how…how it's…"

"Please, Daniel, let me finish." Vlad cut in, starting to sound impatient. "What I've described to you is the occurrence when crude Ectoranium comes in contact with ectoplasm. That's its _natural _reaction, and the specter deflector relies solely on this phenomenon. The Fentonscrambler, however, does not use crude Ectoranium. It contains a highly concentrated form that is purified and highly charged. The higher charge leads to a more violent reaction, one that has enough power to immediately incapacitate its target. The scrambler…you can think of it almost like a taser."

"Like the Plasmius Maximus?"

"No, Daniel. I'm talking the trigger-activated tasers, the kind that can fire from a distance, since the scramble works functions on almost the same principle. I've taken the Fentonscrambler apart, and its trigger mechanism fires Ectoranium barbs into the target; tasers function in almost the exact same way. However, the ectoplasmis barbs are extremely fine, though, almost invisible to the unaided eye, and they embed themselves in the target." He paused. "…Are you following me?"

"Yeah…" I breathed, suddenly aware of how tightly I'd been coiling the phone cord around my finger. I loosened the wire, watching to color return to my pinky. "I follow…"

"The real…effectiveness of this weapon comes from the forced insertion of Ectoranium into an ectoplasm-based body, though, mainly due to the sheer level of integration between the two."

"Integration?"

"Yes, the barbs can pierce extremely deeply into a ghost's body, since the target is not entirely solid."

I swallowed hard, chills running down my spine at the thought. "So you mean the barbs…rip me apart?"

"…Surprisingly…no." Vlad sighed, mulling his answer over. "I ran the samples through some tests, and the barbs melt within seconds of entering the target. Since they are too fine to cause any real damage, especially to a ghost, their tracks are almost untraceable. Their…true effectiveness functions on a much different level. As I said, the two should _violently _repel one another, but the scrambler penetrates deep enough, and over such a diffuse area, that the two _have _no immediate way to separate. Instead the Ectoranium is temporarily trapped inside your body; the charge of the ectoranium, in prolonged contact with the viable energy in your ectoplasm, do react violently enough to dissipate all the energy in both substances."

"So that's why…I couldn't move…a-and couldn't change back." I whispered, the gears in my brain turning. But an uncomfortable sort of feeling settled in my stomach, Vlad's explanation not quite lining up. "But wait…You said 'temporarily' trapped…In that case, shouldn't the Ectoranium be gone? If they repel each other…"

"…then they do separate, Daniel, usually within a few minutes. However, the separation is actually the most damaging aspect of the Fentonscrambler. Ectoranium, once it melts, is mixed in with the ectoplasm on a near microscopic scale. But since they repel each other so forcefully, each particle of Ectoranium rushes to group together, again, such as oil in a puddle of water. But it…rushes to congregate from all over the body, as far as the Fenton scrambler spread the Ectoranium." Vlad paused, silence falling over the line for a moment. "It quite literally slices the ectoplasm apart…down to the molecular level."

Vlad paused on the other line, waiting for any kind of response from me.

"Do you follow?"

"…Yes." I hardly whispered.

"The scalpels aren't too different, but the coating contains a few extra chemicals that prevent the violent reaction between ectoplasm and Ectoranium. Since ectoplasm cannot phase through Ectoranium, it prevents that section of your body from going intangible."

I threw a fleeting glance into the living room, fearful eyes finding my dad hunched over the scattered equipment. Shivers raced down my spine at the thought, that the technology in there was literally meant to rip ectoplasm apart, molecule by molecule.

More importantly, that it _had _ripped me apart, molecule by molecule.

"But wait…" I started weakly, pulling the receiver closer to my mouth. "If the Ectoranium is supposed to tear ectoplasm apart like that, how am I still…intact? My dad said that it was supposed to…to…"

"This kind of…destruction, happens almost exclusively with you active energy. Stable ectoplasm, in principle, is too sturdy for the Ectoranium to destroy. They still repel each other, and the stable ectoplasm is still certainly damaged, but it remains intact. Keep in mind Daniel, even in ghost form you're not entirely composed of ectoplasm; the human element to your ghost half could very well have saved you from some of the worse effects, and it may also be why you regained function as quickly as you did."

"_Quickly_?" I snapped suddenly, breath catching in my throat as I watched my dad stiffen from the other room. "I…Do you know how _long_ I was down there?"

"3 hours, 47 minutes. There's a clock in the bottom right of the video."

"Rhetorical question…" I muttered, relaxing a bit when my dad went back to toiling with his equipment. "So, what does this all mean? What do I do about it?"

"It means, Daniel, there is still hope for you. Most importantly, it confirms that the stable energy that wasn't damaged in the physical dissection is healthy enough to maintain the structure of your ghost half, even though the active ectoplasm has been essentially destroyed."

"How is that good?" I hissed, quickly losing patience.

"If all of your stable energy was destroyed, Daniel, you'd disintegrate on spot. For now, though, the only badly damaged stable ectoplasm is at the incision site. As for your active energy, at the rate most ghosts expend energy, active ectoplasm is _designed _to regenerate quickly. Under normal circumstances your ghost side can synthesize it from the energy in the air, but the physical substance that composes your active energy duplicates itself from your existing ectoplasm. Your body may still be trying to synthesize new active ectoplasm, but the poisoned supply already in your body is what's being reproduced." He stopped again, thinking over how to continue. "If healthy active ectoplasm was substituted into your system, your body may be able to start synthesizing it on its own.'

"And how would I do that?" I pressed, hopes dangerously high as my heart seemed to stop.

"I'm…not entirely sure, but it's theoretically sound." Vlad's voice seemed to falter, losing some of the momentum it had before.

"You're not _sure? _How is it good news if—" I clamped my mouth shut, catching from the corner of my eye as Dad pulled himself from the floor, making his way over at the sudden shouting. His concerned face came nearer, dangerously within earshot as I threw my gaze to the tiled floor.

"Thank you, Mr. Masters, for you concern but that's an issue the school board has already devised a working solution for and they do not need your assistance in the matter." I shot a glance toward my dad, imagining the same scene on camera from an eagle-eye perspective.

"School board? Daniel are you saying you've already figured out an…an answer to-?"

"Yes, exactly. The school's very experienced in handling ghost attacks, remember that." I pulled my eyes from my father, voice pointed. "The students and teachers can handle themselves just fine unless they ask for your help. However I just…" I swallowed, trying to ignore my hovering father as I struggled to make my last ditch request. "I think the ghost attacks are still the biggest problem outside of the school. If you could find _someone _capable enough to defeat them…"

"Daniel…" Vlad seemed to scoff, but his tone quickly hardened. "Are you asking me to take over your role?"

"People are dying Vl—Mr. Masters. They need some form of protection."

Silence met me from the other side, until

"I…I suppose I could," Vlad nearly sighed. "My public image rests on this too, though. Don't go thinking I'm willing to do anything you ask simply because you're injured."

"Thank you…" I breathed into the phone, relief flooding briefly through my system. The line clicked, and I stared into the receiver, trying to process what Vlad had said. According to him, there was still hope for me, and I wasn't in immediate danger…not yet at least. I could find an answer on my own, first. For now, I wanted to rely on Vlad as little as possible; I couldn't keep owing him so much. But I pushed the thought to the back of my mind, an unconscious smile playing at my lips.

He, for whatever reasons he argued, was actually helping. The thought of Vlad Plasmius suddenly playing the town's hero was almost laughable, yet, he seemed sincere.

Vlad of all people was stepping up—my smile faltered a bit, though, my heart starting to sink—stepping up where I refused to cope. Sam and Tucker had been doing everything humanly possible to help since this started. Even Jazz, who used to tear up when she dropped her ice cream or got her new pants muddy, was taking everything in stride. And yet, _I _was the one shutting them out. _I _was the only one not rising to overcome everything that had happened.

I shot my gaze back to my dad, setting the receiver down as I turned to him. I pushed aside the anxiety rising in my chest, forcing a believable smile back on my face as I stared into his eyes. Everyone else was handling this, so why shouldn't I at least try? I owed Sam and Tucker that much.

My dad's face brightened a bit at the smile on my face, stabbing at conversation once more. "…Soo, what was that about?"

"Oh nothing…" I trailed off, catching Jazz's eye at the top of the stairs. "I need to go find Sam and Tucker. Do you want to come with me, Jazz?"

Jazz nodded her head, confusion still tainting her features. I could explain what happened on the way over. For now though, I wouldn't let her worry any longer. I'd start fighting through this too; it was my turn to be strong.

I could do it.

"W-why?" My dad risked asking, eyes still uncertain as he faced me.

"I need to apologize to them," I answered truthfully, looking easily into Dad's eyes. "I said some things I didn't mean."

Jazz caught up with me by the door, jogging almost to keep pace as I stepped onto the sidewalk. "Danny what's going on…?"

I glanced over in her direction, chewing slightly on my lip.

"Where to begin…?" I sighed, feeling a bit of spark seep back into my eyes. I could do this. I could be strong.

…

I had to acknowledge, now more than ever, that Jazz was a really good listener. She didn't press me when I faltered, instead just walking alongside patiently, her soft eyes waiting for me to find the voice to continue. Eventually, I explained everything I could, save for the fact that I was still rotting. I couldn't bring myself to explain that yet, to ruin the mood, to lose that gentle support that shined in her eyes. No, I couldn't lose the hug she wrapped me in when I was finished, or that feeling of rightness when I hugged her back.

Maybe, just maybe, I could do this.

…

_That's right…I'm strong._

"_Lay him on the table! Quickly!"_

_I could get through this…_

"_Jack! Maddie! Find some surgical tubing now! Sam, hold your hand here and don't let go!"_

"_Oh God no Danny! Come on, wake up! WAKE UP!" The voice died in a strangled sob, misery rising in the speaker's voice._

_The world was fuzzy, my thoughts dimming, reality lost to me. Instead I held onto the warmth of my sister's arm, clinging to the memory in my weightless mind._

_Brightness._

_Shimmering brightness danced in my vision, sparking up and dying down to little pinpricks, kind of like pressing your palms over your lids._

"_W-what's happening?"_

"_The barrier is crumbling."_

"…_What does that mean?"_

"_It means his two halves are fusing again. Don't move your hand!"_

"_But his wh-whole chest is…" The voice pitched upward, ending in a terrified squeak._

_The other voice sighed in frustration, "Move then!"_

"_P-please…What's going to happen to him?"_

_Some dizzy part of my mind recognized the speaker, but the identity was quickly pushed away as my thoughts fell, tapering to black nothingness…_


	20. Sleepless PR

Chapter 20! (Yes, I'm still alive.) Sorry again for the incredibly late update. May's been a pretty hectic month-mainly it's been a blur of hospital visits (everyone's fine now though) massive projects and band trips to Boston. On the plus side, I got a new laptop yesterday, so hopefully I won't have to deal with the "blue screen of death" at least twice a day.

Please enjoy! And as always, reviewers are loved!

...

...

He sat silently in the semidarkness of the basement, the old, worn desk chair he occupied creaking with any subtle movement he made. But his silence was scarcely broken, the man sitting so rigidly, so frozen to the spot, that he was left with only the noise of his own thoughts. Hours of silence, though, had robbed him of any new ideas, anything else to contemplate, reducing him, physically and mentally, to little more than a statue. Even his face was unreadable, staring impassively across the room, distant eyes marred by a kind of torment that shined in their gray surfaces. His silver hair had been pulled loose from his ponytail, and a few unkempt strands spilled onto his face. The man didn't seem to notice, nor did he seem to mind. Nothing about his messy, tainted appearance seemed to bother him, not the gruesome streaks of blood that had dried across his pure white undershirt, not the peppered, bloody spatter that dotted his shoulder, where the dying teen's few, shuddering, wheezing breaths had stained the suit, not even the caking gore under his fingernails seemed to cause him any discomfort. He merely sat there, mind distant, staring across the room into nothingness.

Steadily, the man began to shake his head, eyes closed, exhaling softly.

"I could have helped if you'd told me sooner…" He spoke to the wall, voice almost monotone, musing his thoughts aloud. "…You damn fool…"

He threw his gaze to the corner of the lab, but quickly refocused on the wall ahead of him, not wanting to think.

"Mr. Masters?"

The man started, throwing his gaze to the slight stream of light that came from the cracked basement door, outlining the dark figure that had spoken.

"Would you like some coffee?" Jazz Fenton stepped into the dim light of the lab, the dark shadows under her eyes emphasized in the semidarkness. She held her arms out, supporting a tray of two steaming coffee mugs before setting it down on the lab table.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Vlad asked weakly, the concern in his voice unconvincing.

"Please…I can't sleep…" The younger one trailed off shaking her head, her gaze flickering to the corner of the lab.

Sighing, and almost with an air of reluctance, Vlad grabbed one of the mugs from the tray, staring into the contents without drinking any.

"Mr. Masters?"

Vlad picked his head up, wary eyes begrudgingly meeting Jazz's. Her gaze though remained drowned in her mug, her puffy, bloodshot eyes watching the subtle rippling in its surface. She didn't move, didn't even open her mouth, until after a few seconds Vlad doubted she'd spoken at all.

"Why…didn't he tell us?" Jazz whispered into her mug. "I thought he was…being open with me…with Sam and Tucker and me…" She swirled the cup anxiously, watching her rippling reflection distort in the surface of the mug. "He was just…a-a wreck the first week, but after that I thought…I thought he was learning to cope…learning to tell us what was wrong." Her grip tightened on the handle, the trembling in her fingers apparent in the shaky surface of the coffee. "This though…h-how could I have missed something so big?"

She set the mug down, losing faith in its comfort as a loose tear ran down her cheek. She wiped fervently at her eyes, continuing.

"I could have…done something for him…" she whispered weakly, hands clenched in her lap. "Why'd he….Why didn't he…?"

Her voice died out, her unfinished question hanging in the tense, dark silence.

"I suppose…he didn't want to worry you…" Vlad sighed, shaking his head. "I'm shocked almost, that he went to the trouble of fooling me…I was his best chance to…but it didn't matter I suppose, in the end…that he lied to me. I didn't have any idea how to save him."

Jazz was sobbing almost silently, eyes buried in her lap, the quiet settling back over the room.

"You really ought to be asleep…"

"Why do you…care?" she whispered, forcing her breathing under control. "Why are you still here when you…when you're…"

"When I'm supposed to be the villain?" He almost smiled, but his expression remained drained, dead.

Jazz nodded weakly.

"You should understand I…I never hated Daniel…" He paused, staring into his mug before he suddenly scoffed. "I'm more than certain that he despised me, but for the most part I just saw…potential in your brother he wasn't using. But after the things he went through…regardless of who he is—or who I am—I couldn't just…ignore it.

"…He was a pain, but I never hated him…"

"I see…" Jazz mumbled, exhaustion weighing her down.

Vlad's gaze shot to the lab door, a thin stream of light filtering through the crack. A flicker of anxiety crossed his face, lips pursing slightly in concern. "Are the others still…? I mean Jack and Maddie…"

A subtle grimace crossed Jazz's face, but she bit it back. "I really doubt they're asleep…I could hear mom…sobbing when I came down. They're still locked in their room though…Probably couldn't…handle being down here." Her hands trailed to the mug again, pulling it from the steel table, sipping absently at the steaming coffee. "I guess they trust you enough to…"

She hestitated, as though speaking took all the energy she possessed, continuing,

"to be…"

Her sentence tapered off unfinished, the speaker suddenly jarred from her thoughts. Her eyes widened, mug almost slipping from her grasp, coffee sloshing onto the floor. She whipped her head around, unkempt hair swishing over her shoulders, at the soft, almost silent moan that broke the air. Both mugs were left forgotten at the table as the two found their way to the corner of the lab in the pitch black.

Darkness soon enveloped them both, and almost reluctantly, Jazz flicked on the light hanging over her parents' lab table.

"Danny?" She whispered, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she pulled her brother's hand from the table, careful not to strain the mess of wires and tubes that bound him to the machines at his side.

The young boy struggled to open his mouth, but only a silent, rasping wheeze met the air.

…

"_Danny?"_

_That voice…Her voice…Is that…?_

"_Danny? Danny? Are you awake?"_

_Something brushed my hand, but it was hardly there. I could have been wearing gloves, for the faint, distant sensation that tingled in my fingers._

"_Move, Jazz. I'll handle it…" There was a slight pause, a sort of heavy silence. "Go tell your parents he's awake—Sam and Tucker too. Let me try to talk to him."_

"_But I…"_

"_Please, I need to check that the transfusion is working…"_

_Soft pattering echoed in my head, the steps hesitantly receding. "…O-okay."_

"_Jazz!" The steps stopped, and the speaker hesitated, breath seeming to catch in his throat. "Don't…Don't bring them down here yet…I'll see if I can talk to him…see what he wants…if he wants them here."_

_What who wants?... _

"_Daniel…Daniel, can you hear me?"_

_The voice was familiar, yet so distant, so far away I wasn't sure whether or not to answer it. I felt buried, entombed in my own world, which all and all, just made it hard to care. _

_Why should I answer? _

_No…No I didn't want to._

_I wanted to fade away again, fall back under the weight that bound me. _

…_Why was I even here?_

_Despite my desperate urging, the heaviness was fading, my body, and consciousness starting to surface to…whatever was calling my name. My heart was suddenly thudding in my chest, harmonized with distant blipping that scarcely met my ears. My breathing, too, was suddenly there, but it felt wrong, like something was twisting inside my chest, letting in air too cold to feel right. The first thrills of fear rippled through my body, confusion muddling my mind as I fought to know WHY this was happening…or where I was…how I got here…_

…_ghost fight?..._

…_or possibly Vlad…he was connected…somehow._

"GAAH!"

"Daniel!"

Two hands were suddenly wrapped over my shoulders, but I could hardly feel them over the sudden agony that ripped across my chest. My lids twitched in the torrents of pain, breath catching in my throat as tears flowed past my shut eyes. I gritted my teeth, biting my tongue until I drew blood, back arching against the chilled surface as I fought for some way to escape the agony.

"Get a hold of yourself!" The pressure increased, the stronger hands forcing me back against the table. "You'll rip out the stitching!"

"…V-Vlad?" I choked out, cracking a single eye to see his wild face swim into my vision. He looked wrong—so…un-Vlad like—so ragged, so tired, so _fearful._

Another strangled scream ripped past my lips, dying into a weak moan under the slight hold of heaviness that still grasped my body.

"Breathe…J-just breathe…The pain should start to dull pretty soon…"

It took me a moment to register that Vlad had pulled himself up, his hands fiddling with a new bag of liquid mounted at my side.

"The morphine should be kicking in…just lie still for now…"

_Morphine…? Like in a-_

"Hospital?" I whispered weakly, the edges of my vision too clouded to see anything but the man before me.

"No…" he whispered back, dropping his voice to my level, "I had my team bring in some…supplies."

He seemed to falter a bit at the confusion painted across my face, biting his lip. "My medical team…I hired some doctors to work exclusively for me after the ecto-acne incident…Incase something went wrong that I couldn't let known to the public." His eyes hardened slightly, angry almost about something he said. The look vanished after a moment, tiredness shining more clearly in his dulled eyes. "None of them will talk…don't worry. I handpicked some people who put money above their morals. Their lips are sealed."

Some soft sigh of relief swept past my lips, the burning torment starting to ebb ever so slightly, enough to clear some of the haze from my mind. My eyes snapped open though, the gasp seeming half-dead in my throat. The in-and-out of my breathing sent new ripples of pain across my body, and it seemed only a fraction of the air came to my mouth. Terror of what I might see locked my eyes on Vlad, refusing to let them trail to my chest. Mutinously though, they drifted down, forcing down a wave of nausea at the sight that met me.

Heavy, faintly bloodstained bandages snaked across my chest, interrupted by a single, clear tube that dug clean into my chest.

Vlad must have seen the growing terror in my eyes, quickly answering my unasked question before I could act on any of the thoughts running through my mind. "It's a breathing tube—feeds directly to your left lung. The…rotting reached the bronchial tube in your right side, and this…it directs almost all of the air to your left side. You also won't be able to speak strongly for some time…nothing above a whisper as you—you probably know already."

_No…No I don't…But why's…Why's this?_

"Please…" I wheezed, eyes unable to leave the blood chilling sight. "What happened? …Why…Why am I here?"

Vlad's expression changed suddenly, his lips pursing, eyebrows arching in something close to worry. He shut his eyes for a moment, head shaking slightly. "You…don't remember?"

"No…"

_But wait…it was something…something bad. Really bad _

"I…don't remember…"

_My parents…and my ghost half…Something happened…had to have happened._

"don't remember…why I'm…"

_I was bound…and trapped…but why'd they? …How'd they?_

"Daniel…" Vlad started softly, voice almost gone. "Your parents…see they…"

"_Grab him…"_

"_It's me! It's Danny!"_

"_Lie there, drop the act, and this will all be over as soon as possible."_

"They…caught you wh—"

_Of course they know…because they…because they…_

"No…" I cut in suddenly, voice barely audible. "No…They couldn't have…"

The memories came tumbling back, forcing tears to my eyes.

"Daniel…"

"But no…i-it can't be…" The dissection. The guilt. The _rotting. _"I'm dreaming…Th-they wouldn't…"

Vlad only stared back, eyebrows arched in pity.

"No…" I whispered, voice growing quieter. Yet I could see everything so clearly—remember it all so clearly.

I wasn't waking up.

"Oh god…please n—please no…" I shut my eyes. "Th-they did…They did…"

"Daniel, I—"

"But it can't—I should be… should be dead. How's it…? How'm I…s-still…?"

"Alive?" Vlad whispered, still keeping his voice near a whisper.

I raised my trembling eyes to his, silently begging for an explanation as he dropped his gaze to the floor.

"The barrier between your two halves…It broke down when you—when you were…earlier, when you stopped bre-…stopped breath-" He shook his head, continuing. "Now for a ghost…t-there's no real way to perform a transfusion, since they…don't have veins. Basically means that with your halves separated…there wasn't any way to…replace your ectoplasm, so to speak. But when the barrier crumbled…"

"My halves fused…" I finished weakly, twitching at the spasms of pain that rippled across my chest from the effort of speaking.

"Yes, which means the tainted ectoplasm was…mixed back into your human side. It's…ironic almost…of all things to make a transfusion possible."

"But I…What ectoplasm?..." I pulled my gaze to the IV hanging by my side, with only two bags hanging on the rack. The clear one baring a label reading "morphine" across the front, the other one crimson read, and labeless. "What'd I…"

Vlad shifted slightly, his expression souring like he was about to regret saying whatever had crossed his mind. "Now…transfusing _straight _ectoplasm into your human body would most likely have killed you. In essence it is a toxic substance, and the ectoplasm from your ghost form has certain…human qualities since it was still created using your human genome as its template. So no, we have not technically transfused just the clean ectoplasm; we gave you something that's…much more suited to…you." He crossed his arms, eyes averted from mine. "You're damn lucky we're the same blood type."

My mouth hung slightly open, eyes trailing over the red liquid hanging in the IV bag. Perhaps it was a trick of the fluorescent lighting, but the contents seemed to glow with a diluted, acid green.

I winced slightly as the burning flared up in my chest again, but I bit it back throwing my eyes to the corner.

Despite the shooting pain it shot across my chest, a single, humorless laugh blew past my lips. "You're telling me you saved my life? This really must be a blow to your evil street cred. What would the other super villains think?" The thought of owing Vlad was unsettling enough, and to owe him my life seemed to tear at something inside me. It just didn't feel right.

Vlad narrowed his eyes, shooting me an annoyed glare. "Once again, Daniel, this is a precaution for my own safety. Keeping secret the fact that a minor is dying is a punishable crime. I don't need indictments, court cases, or murder investigations to destroy my public face. With you alive, this can still remain a secret."

I shut my eyes, focusing on the soft in and out of my breathing. Despite the chill of the air and the faint whistle around the tube, I was thankful at least for the steady flow of air in and out of my body. For just a moment, I was able to enjoy the pressing silence.

"Why did you lie to me about finding a cure?"

The sharpness in Vlad's voice jarred me a bit, forcing both eyes open as I studied his face. It was set in a kind of no-nonsense glare, like he'd been sitting on the question since this started, and wasn't walking away without an answer.

"Why did you believe me?" I threw my gaze to the corner of the lab, painfully aware of how obviously I was dodging his question. To my surprise though, he answered.

"Because I was certain Jazz and your two friends had been aware of your state." His voice was hard, the words sounding almost rehearsed. "Maybe you don't see it, but your sister has the same deductive reasoning skills I have. She also has a vested interest in medical fields and unlimited access to your parents' research. I still think she could have come up with a solution if you'd simply informed her!"

Vlad's voice rose a bit, his body leaning out of his chair, but he wiped the emotion from his face, sighing as he slumped back.

"Don't compare yourself to my sister…" I muttered, still dodging what he really wanted to know. In truth, though, I wasn't sure I could explain it to him. It always seemed, the more I ignored it, the more and more it had to be a lie. Keeping just that bit of information to myself, having no one else around who knew, at times it was like I could believe it was just a nightmare.

Even more, it felt like I held just the slightest bit of control when my world was spiraling out of control. But no, I couldn't explain that to Vlad; I couldn't even explain it to myself.

Vlad didn't answer, though, silently pressing me for more of an answer.

"You could have just talked to my sister, you know? Why didn't you explain your miracle cure to her instead of assuming I'd found my own?" I winced inwardly at the thought, a cold kind of fear rising up at the thought of that actually happening. I didn't want Vlad going to Jazz; I didn't want him meddling without my knowledge. It would have been just another thing ripped out of my control. But for now, I held my front.

"Daniel, you know as well as I do that I'm not exactly welcome around Jazz. I was aware from the moment I agreed to help that your friends and sister would reject anything I tried to offer." His face fell though, eyes dropping to the ground as he lowered his voice. "Besides…" He paused:

"…I never figured out the cure."

"What?"

"I knew pure ectoplasm would be toxic, and most likely deadly to your human half. I knew there was no way to filter the amount still existing inside you, since it was damaged beyond repair. And I was…certain that…a blood-ectoplasm transfusion wouldn't work. There are…markers in each ghost's ectoplasm—similar to blood types, but each kind is unique to each ghost—that are meant to damage other ectoplasmic organisms. It's how the energy your body runs off of can be used as a weapon against others. You possess these markers and so do I, and they should have destroyed each other in a transfusion."

My eyes darted to the bag at my side, breathing coming a bit more ragged. I was hit with the urge to pull out the IV, the prospect of his ectoplasm poisoning mine drawing forward images of the dissection so long ago.

"I had no cure, Daniel," he finished almost harshly, like he was angry to admit it.

"But how…How i-is?"

His eyes were back on mine, trying to gauge my reaction. "After you passed out, I tried to keep the bleeding under control and get a makeshift breathing tube, but I was…at a loss...what to do next." He shook his head, gaze wavering. "The gash had completely re-opened on your chest…the bleeding, the shock, the suffocation…everything could have killed you, and I really had no…no idea what to do."

The conversation died, but I couldn't fight the burning question in my mind.

"But if you didn't…then, then who?"

He fixed his gaze on me, like he was trying to pin me to the spot. There was a soft sort of reluctance in his face, and for a moment I was sure he wouldn't answer.

"They did…" He paused, looking for any change in my expression. "Jack…and Maddie."

_Mom…and Dad?_

My eyes widened, breath catching in my throat as I imagined them ripping me open again. I was unconscious, weak and helpless, and they had free reign of me—again—on the cold lab table.

"They…saved me…?" I breathed, voice scarcely audible, even to my own ears.

"Of course they did. They love you."


	21. Desperation PR

Update! I don't have too much to add for this chapter, so I'd just like to say thanks to everyone for the insanely kind reviews. They really make my day!

Enjoy

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"_Of course they did. They love you."_

I stared back into Vlad's clouded eyes, the thoughts in my head turning.

"But they…T-thought for sure they…they wouldn't still…" My voice shook, pitch wavering until I gave up on speaking, trying instead to grasp what he meant.

_They still love me?_

…_They don't hate me? _

_It's not possible; they hate ghosts._

_They hate Phantom._

_They hate me._

"But they couldn't s-still…" I started again weakly, head shaking. "Y-you didn't see them…see them when they caught me. You didn't see their eyes…They…They didn't love me…"

"No, Daniel…They didn't love _Phantom." _He slumped a bit in his chair, rubbing the stiffness out of his neck. "They're ghost hunters. Your parents, they…they aren't supposed to love any ghost—especially not Phantom, with the mockery he's made out of them. And above it all, he—you—seemed to disprove everything they'd learned in twenty years of research." He dropped his hand to his side, the exhaustion in his eyes clear. "They were curious about you…more than anything."

I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say, but Vlad cut me off, raising his palm to me.

"They disliked Phantom—maybe even hated him—but the love they have for you is…different. It's stronger than any baseless grudge they held against your ghost side."

I shut my mouth, losing myself to my thoughts. Some fleeting sensation tingled in my chest—somewhere away from the morphine-dulled burning that ate at my whole being.

Hope, I realized.

It was hope.

It was that tiny little feeling that, maybe, Vlad could be right. Somehow, through it all, maybe I could still be their son. The warm, comforting feeling started to chill after a moment, freezing at the thought that—if they still loved me—it would be their turn to be haunted by the memories. After this, after everything, was it _my _job now to hate _them? _My mind didn't seem capable of answering.

I started slightly, pulled from my haze when Vlad spoke again, breaking the pressing silence.

"It was like…they just…_woke up," _he started offhand, his head shaking, eyes marred by a kind of sadness, staring across the room. "One moment…they were completely lost—the way you saw them, like their minds weren't even there…But after I…after I…lost sight of what I was doing…" Vlad paused again, unsure of what to say—how to explain. "I-I called my team…but for a while…I was so sure you'd—I mean the team they…they couldn't get here right away…and you were fading…" He paused again, his calm, almost rehearsed speech a thing of the past. "And before I knew it, Jack and Maddie were…awake again. They pushed me out of the way. Maddie was crying—sobbing more like—but she looked so damned determined to just…save you."

Vlad paused, looking back at me in time to catch the two mutinous tears that rolled down my cheeks. I made to wipe them, but the IV line held my hand in place.

"Jack too he…I've never seen him so set on anything. He demanded to know…_everything _about your condition from me…I explained whatever I could, while they pulled out racks of instruments…surgical gloves and tubing and they…I can't even describe it…the terrified looks in their eyes."

He stopped again, fists balling at his sides as he threw his gaze to the corner.

"Sam was crying in Tucker's arms; Jazz was standing there just…stunned, w-with tears running down her cheeks…looking like…like she wanted to scream but couldn't even remember how…I-I don't know how I looked but I didn't…couldn't do anything…until the team arrived and they took over…stitching you up, and getting the IV hooked at your side."

…_No…_

"My parents still…they still…" I tried to shake my head, slightly bound by my position on the table. "They wanted to…save me this time? When they could have…could have…"

_Could have what? …What exactly was I afraid of?_

"What they did, Daniel, that day…" Vlad started, eyes growing softer. "…they did to Phantom…they did to an unfeeling ghost they thought…thought was terrorizing their town." His voice had grown so low, so soft, I could barely believe it was still Vlad speaking, the Vlad Masters I thought I knew. "Like I said…they didn't think they were being cruel…they didn't think they were doing wrong…They didn't know they were…were hurting _you…"_

Silence hung over the lab for a moment, my voice too far gone to speak. Vlad's expression seemed to shift slightly, his eyes looking past me at something I'm sure wasn't there.

"Maddie was always so…so _gentle…" _he started, lost in some cherished memory_. "_That's the reason I…I started…falling for her then…right from the moment I met her. She was….everything—fierce and protective and _powerful, _but when it came to the things she loved—she just had a kind of compassion I admired in her…the kind of generosity and kindness I adored and…I couldn't live without_…_I fell in love with her for her heart." Vlad's eyes were distant, remembering some time long ago that brought a ghost of a smile to his lips. "I never knew anyone could be so kind…and so beautiful." His eyes lost their glow, the smile gone again. "She…she loved you with all her heart…You can't imagine…how much this is tearing her up right now. Never…never in my life have I seen her so broken….and so terrified and-…A-and even so…she knew she had to save you."

I shut my eyes tightly, feeling loose tears spill past my lids. Images flashed through my mind, sending all thoughts reeling, my heart feeling like it would be squeezed to the point of suffocation.

Mom, who always hid the best cookies of the batch from Dad—saved them for me.

Mom, whose face flickered with annoyance at every new agonized scream that ripped from my throat.

Mom, who hugged me goodnight every night before bed, whether I wanted her to or not.

—who snapped bones out of my ribcage—

—who let me snuggle in bed with her when I had nightmares—

—who nearly killed me—

—who saved my life—

"Daniel…?"

"She…She didn't know…" I whispered. "And it's…it's my fault that she…that they didn't…But she…she still!" I couldn't think; I couldn't do this. Instead I pulled both arms to my head, twisting my fingers in my hair until I could drown the world out. With the motion, I felt the sharp tug of the IV being yanked out of place. Vlad grabbed at the swinging wire, pulling my arm back down and holding it to the table until he could find the spot I'd wrenched it from.

"The transfusion isn't complete…Daniel…" he whispered, gently sticking the IV back in without looking me in the eyes, without knowing what to say.

"The transfusion…that was her idea too?" I whispered.

"Yes…" He still refused to meet my eyes, pulling himself back into his chair. "When I was explaining to Jack…about the ectoplasm in your blood—that the portal accident infused the ectoplasm into it…I…I had to mention my transfusion idea…even though I was sure it wouldn't…couldn't work…"

I stared back at him for a moment, my eyebrows stitching together in confusion.

"…But your idea…that would mean…t-transferring your own ectoplasmic blood." I bit the inside of my lip for a moment. "Did you tell them you're-"

"No," he answered bluntly, arms folded. "But I told him….the portal incident in college did something similar to my blood—only my blood…" His gaze hardened. "…Don't know how much of my story they bought…" he huffed. "But Maddie thought…she realized they could maybe…separate the markers with a distiller they kept in the lab…a-and a centrifuge." He glanced over at me, discomfort starting to show on his face. "The work I've done in my lab…i-it's never turned up anything like this…But Jack and Maddie created the compound for their arsenal. Any of their weapons that can absorb and redirect ectoplasmic attacks needs a distiller compound it its filter…so the redirected blast isn't 'tuned' to the target…less powerful than a blast with foreign markers, but the purer ectoplasm is still…effective."

Finally his eyes met mine, a sort of urgency shining in their surfaces. "She literally smashed one of their ectoguns right there—took out the filter, and just…just stood there crying and _begging _me for a transfusion. I still…still can't get the image out of my head..." Vlad's voice grew smaller, his head starting to hang. "…Could hardly…hardly stand seeing her like that. She was so…so _desperate_…"

I picked my head up, meeting the look in Vlad's eyes with a gaze much fiercer than his broken stare. "I want to see them."

Vlad visibly started, eyes widening a bit in shock. "…Just like that?" he asked.

"Yes…Please I…I've been avoiding this long enough…I need to speak with them."

Vlad sighed, some emotion shining in his eyes I couldn't place. "Fine…" He shifted position slightly to face the stairwell. "Jazz!"

I craned my neck to see the doorway, catching sight of the hesitant outline of my sister, her hands clamped around the doorframe.

"Y-yes, Mr. Masters?...I-is he-?"

"Get Jack and Maddie."

"…W-what? Now?"

"Yes." Vlad's voice had changed. It was flat—void of emotion. "He wants to speak to them."

"And w-what about…Sam and Tucker?"

Vlad shot a quick glance in my direction, and I nodded curtly.

"Yes, bring them down too."

Jazz's shape disappeared from the doorway, leaving me alone for a few moments of silence with Vlad.

"…You want this?"

"…Yes…" I sighed, cringing a bit at the burning tug in my chest. "I've been…putting this off long enough…lying to them long enough…It's too late now to…go back." I shut my eyes, trying desperately to keep my heart rate under control. The lies and secrecy weren't helping anymore; they were just damaging now, just blowing up in my face over and over; I couldn't be afraid of the truth anymore. _This _had happened. And _this _needed to be made right. "I can't avoid them any longer."

Vlad seemed to shake his head, but he had no other response for me, our conversation cut off by the timid creak of the lab door.

Fighting against the morphine-dulled ache in my chest, I pushed myself cautiously onto one elbow, turning just enough to have the whole door in my sights.

Jazz's scared eyes shined back down on me, her trembling gaze slightly hidden by the shadows from the lab. After a moment, she set one hesitant foot on the first stair, the wood groaning under her weight. With her movement, she revealed the four shadows hovering behind her, indiscernible in the tapering light. I bit down my fear, my own vision starting to blur in panicked tears as the two almost trembling figures came into view behind her. The thinner, lither one had both arms wrapped tightly around her midsection, her lip clearly trembling on her unmasked face. The eyes that met mine were bloodshot red, still letting a loose tear or two run down her cheeks as she came into the light. A different sort of terror took over her face once she caught sight of me, her eyes welling up again with a fresh onslaught of tears, her pupils literally trembling. The larger one, his day-glow orange suit still marred in ectoplasm and blood, hardly seemed human. He was rigid, save for the gentle motion of placing his hands on the blue one's shoulders. Otherwise, he seemed paralyzed. His eyes were trembling, lost, staring more through me than at me, his face twisted into an unchanging mask of torture.

They looked so foreign…so wrong.

I couldn't recognize them.

_They're Mom and Dad…You can't forget that._

But at the same time, I couldn't accept it.

They weren't the Mom and Dad who loved me.

They weren't the Mom and Dad who hated me.

They weren't my mom and dad.

The two stood motionless, caught where they stood, until a slighter frame broke through the middle, her combat boots clunking against the stairs as she made her way down—motions stiff and rigid, her focus seemingly lost.

"Danny?" she whispered, coming close enough for me to see the thick smudges of eyeliner smeared beneath her bloodshot eyes. "…Are…you…?"

"I'm fine," I whispered back, wanting to shift the breathing tube out of sight, wanting desperately to hide the snaking bandages that zigzagged across my chest. My breathing felt much more ragged, breath coming shorter from the anxiety, speaking starting to take its toll on my strength. "It's okay…I'm fine…"

Closer now, I could see the dullness that robbed her eyes of their shine, the sheer exhaustion that snuffed out their light. For a moment, though, they lost their clouded glaze. For that moment, they started shining again, the slightest of smiles brushing her lips, the terror leaving her eyes as she took in my response, as she took in me—breathing, talking, and alive. I could feel the fear seeping out of my own eyes in mirror, the burning pain in my chest receding slightly more at the sight of their beautiful violet color.

My elbow started to tremble, and I let the arm give, lowering myself back onto the table as gently as possible.

Sam was at my side in a moment, her arms hovering over me, eyes lit up with a new spark of fear as they darted across my form. "What's wrong? Are you—"

"Fine…" I breathed back. "Elbow's just tired…"

She lowered her arms, but the fear still burned in her eyes. The sensation hit me, harder and stronger than ever before, of just how much I wanted that look to vanish, just how much I wanted the pain and misery and fear to leave her eyes,

Just how much I wanted to see her smile again.

"Geez Sam…Don't want to…even think…how much trouble you're in…" I stared into her eyes, watching her eyebrows knit in confusion, trying my hardest to wipe the pain from my face, to ignore the strain that was starting to come with speaking, "…for sleeping over…at the Fentons'…" I cracked a smile, watching her eyes harden. "…Knowing your mom…I'll never…see you again…Will I?"

Sam rolled her eyes, stepping back with her arms crossed. I could see through the annoyance on her face though; I could see the underlying smile she was suppressing. Buried deeper, I could see the happiness that barely touched her eyes.

"Do you plan on telling her? Because I'm sleeping over at Hannah Weinpahl's house tonight."

"Who?"

"Friend I made up, for occasions like this and all," Sam answered, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. "I made her a Facebook and everything."

I couldn't hide the smile on my face either, honest chuckling building in my throat. The laughter though seemed to burn against my windpipe, breaking down into a fit of weak, wheezing coughs. Sam's eyes lost their fleeting glow, sparked again with worry as she stuck her hands out over my body, unsure of what to do.

"Danny?"

The breathing tube rattled inside me, sending torrents of pain zigzagging across my chest. I gritted my teeth, eyes shut tightly against the sensation, a small, strangled cry breaking past my lips.

"Danny? P-please are you-?"

"'Skay," I breathed, cracking an eye open, my body still trembling from the shock. "Just…been talking too much."

Sam didn't answer, her terror stricken eyes just staring back at me through the silence.

"I-it's the tube, Danny…" I pulled my eyes away from Sam, settling in surprise on the new speaker who couldn't bring herself to come much closer. "The stitching should be enough without…If you want us t-…to remove it…" She stuck one ungloved hand out, hovering in the air until she pulled it back to her chest, her short brown hair masking her face as she hung her head lower, words dead in her throat.

"It's…getting harder…to talk…And the tube's kinda…freaking me out." I tried to keep my quiet voice even, trying to make contact with her hidden eyes. _I'm strong. I can do this. _"Sure…Mom…I want it out."

She raised her trembling gaze from the floor, her eyes swimming in the welling tears, staring back at me with a kind of disbelief. Still, she didn't move or speak, seeming to have lost her small voice. Vlad shifted, pulling my eyes to him as he watched Mom, a helpless kind of desperation shining in his eyes, reserved only for her. The look vanished as he glanced in my direction.

"Now Daniel, when she says remove, she doesn't mean entirely; we wouldn't be able to do that without leaving a hole in your chest." He paused, eyes darting to Mom again. "However we can mostly retract the part that penetrates your lung, and 'cap off' the actual tube, which should make it much easier to speak." His eyebrows knitted together in doubt, gaze trained on the breathing tube. "Still, I'm not sure if that's entirely advisable. My team isn't scheduled to return for a few more hours, and if something goes wrong, I'm not sure we have the means to fix it."

"Please…" I started, my whisper scarcely audible, speaking coming with more effort than before. "I…I'm willing to…to talk now…" I paused, trying to steady my breath. "I've been…putting this off…f-for so long now…a-and it's been…eating me up inside…I can't…can't handle it anymore."

Vlad's face was unreadable, but I could tell he was listening.

"No more putting…putting it off…" I told myself more than anyone. "We're…we're doing this now…"


	22. Breakdown PR

_Chapter 22! Sorry for the late update-finals and all. But I really got the motivation to write yesterday from a reviewer (which I wasn't expecting, since I haven't updated in so long and I was sure the story was pretty buried) But anyway, enjoy!_

_Reviewers are loved!_

_..._

I could feel the tense silence pressing down on me, still my turn to get things started. When I tried to concentrate though, to focus on those thoughts and memories that I'd been trying to force down for over a month, I found it impossible without raw panic rising in my chest. My eyes darted around the room, heart rate quickening at the damp darkness, the bright, tapering light that shined solely on me, the cold, skin-chilling lab table, only missing the leather restraints. I swallowed hard, but the lab was pressing in on me more and more, feeding the ravenous panic in my heart until my mind threatened to shut down.

Vlad shifted from his seat, making his way to my side, pushing back a few loose strands of hair that dangled over his face. I shut my eyes, wincing at the slight tugging sensation that rippled through my chest as he detached the extension to the tube, quickly capping it, made known by the sudden surge of breath that rushed past my lips. I gasped, my eyes flying open as Vlad hesitated, but I got my breathing under control again, wincing again as I felt something pulled from my chest, breath coming entirely from my mouth now. Vlad backed up, eyeing my chest almost nervously, like he expected something to go horribly wrong. However, as the seconds ticked by, nothing changed, nothing except the swelling panic inside me.

"I…I want to go upstairs…" I started, my voice rasping, but stronger. "I-I can't be…don't want…"

Words died in my throat, and I saw Sam and Tucker look at each other anxiously, throwing their gaze then to Jazz. Jazz caught their eyes, biting her lip as she turned back to me.

"You know…Danny…" she started, fighting some internal battle as she stared at me. "We were…t-talking about this upstairs…and you're still…you still need your IV hooked up…and if we move you, you could accident—"

"Please!" I croaked, surprised at the sudden desperation in my voice. "You don't understand, I-…I can't be down here…a-and talk about it when I…when I'm lying right…"

I cut myself off, almost feeling the flinch that came from Mom and Dad, seeing them shrink back when I tried to look at them.

"We…we can…" my dad started, his voice so small it was scarcely audible, his gaze buried in his feet, "we can move you upstairs if that's….that's what you want…" He tightened his arm around Mom, who seemed to lean farther into him, her gaze kept to the ground.

The others looked to each other, their lips pursed in concern, but none of them seemed able to object. Slowly, Tucker made his way to my side, offering one hesitant hand for me to grab.

I clasped his palm, using my other hand to ease myself upward as gently as possible. It seemed, though, that no amount of care would be able to prevent the searing, burning flare that ripped across my chest at the movement. I squeezed my eyes shut, wincing at the pain, my teeth gritting painfully at the sharp intake of breath. I worked through it though, pushing myself into a sitting position as I resisted the instinctual urge to wrap my hand around my searing chest.

_No…It's fine…I'm fine…_

I pushed one foot out carefully as Tucker grabbed my other hand, easing my sole onto the floor through the agony that shot across my chest. Tucker pulled my arm around his shoulders, supporting my weight as I got the second foot on the ground. I was thankful he could support almost my whole body, as I felt my legs shaking dangerously beneath me, threatening to give out at any second.

"De ja vu…" he whispered, a humorless smile coming to his lips. The look vanished in an instant though, and he concentrated on readjusting my arm as carefully as he could, until I was practically slumped against him.

"Can you walk?" Sam whispered, her voice pitching upward in fear.

"Yeah," I choked back, setting one shaky foot in front of the other as Tucker mirrored my actions. The others followed suit, following slowly behind us as we made our way to the stairs.

…

I was sweating, breathing almost agonizing with the sharp expanding and shrinking of my chest. I could feel the stitches pulling taught against my skin, but I said nothing, focusing only on the stairs.

"Dude…" Tucker's voice sounded strained, his arms almost trembling under my body, which I now realized was leaned entirely against him. "Don't…Please don't push yourself…You're not helping anyone if…"

"'m-fine," I gasped, not realizing how ragged my breathing had become. "I'm fine…really…Just don't…Don't stop…"

I could see Tucker bite his lip through the corner of my eye, honest worry shining in his eyes as he kept forward. He hesitated for a moment, setting his foot down at the top of the stairs, but from my limited vantage point, nearly doubled over Tucker, the end of the stairway was lost to me. The adamant determination that kept me forward, kept my body moving the whole time, still managed to push me onward, my foot rising to find hold on a step that wasn't there. Before I realized it, I was falling. The jolt slammed me hard in the chest, my heart jumping to my throat as I lost my balance, stumbling forward with only Tucker's arm to keep me up.

I heard a tortured, painful yelp ricochet off the walls, and only after a moment of staring through tear-blurred eyes did I realize it came from me. My hand flew around my midsection, feeling the sickly warmness start running between my fingers, seeping through the fresh tear on my chest.

"Danny!" Sam was at my side in a second, dropping to all fours as she struggled to make eye contact with me. "Please a-are you okay?"

I bit down on my tongue, my eye lids shut and twitching against the new torrents of pain. Sharp, shuddering breaths worked their way past my lips, giving way to a soft moan I couldn't hold in anymore. "Sokay…I'm fine…" The weakness in my voice gave away my bluff.

"Tucker…Please…Please hand him to me…"

I dared to look up a moment, catching sight of the overbearing orange figure that had come to Tucker's side, his thickly gloved hands trembling in outstretched support. I could feel Tucker's lithe frame starting to shake under the strain of holding me up, as he stood there in indecision.

"It's fine, Tucker…Go ahead." My voice came out almost muffled, forced through my gritted teeth.

He stood still for a moment, hesitation rooting him to the spot, until he finally shifted my weight from around his shoulders, immediately taken up by the bulky orange figure. A fresh spasm of pain shot across the incision at the movement, but I bit down on my tongue, fighting against the burning agony as Dad pulled me into his arms. Through shut eyes, I felt the ground start moving beneath us, rising and falling slightly with each step, until I couldn't help it any longer, cracking an eye open to meet my dad's face.

His gaze was set dead ahead, but I still felt my heart drop at the sight. He looked sick—truly, deeply sick, yet it was more than that. He looked lost. He looked hurt.

He looked like hell.

Dad knelt slowly by the couch, risking one glance at me with his clouded eyes before gently setting me down. Subconsciously I put my hand to my bandaged chest, wondering almost childishly if I would get the couch bloody. But no. It didn't matter. Instead I lowered my hand, watching my dad back away in uncertainty, retreating to Mom before wrapping her in his now red-stained hands.

"Sit…" I muttered, watching the rest of them ghost to the room's few available seats, all as sickly aware of the poisonous tension as I was. Mom and Dad settled together in the couch on the far side of the room—the seat farthest from me, but also the only one directly facing.

_Still my move…_

"I…I…" Words couldn't form in my throat, fizzling out of existence as soon as they came to mind. I needed something. Anything.

"Mom…Dad…" I shut my eyes for a moment, fighting to push forward. "…I need to know…What were you…What was…going through your mind…when you…were…" I shook my head, the tightness growing in my chest as I worked the question past my lips. I wasn't sure where it came from, but it was the question that had been tormenting me since this started. "…I need to…need to know…"

Dad's arm tightened around Mom, but without making any real movement, it was Mom who was first to speak.

"I don't….I don't know…Danny…" Her voice was so soft, so strained, I could scarcely hear her. The words seemed to turn in on themselves, her voice retreating like a frightened animal. "It was…a ghost...We caught a ghost…and they don't…Ghosts don't…feel. They don't—Not supposed t—Couldn't t-think that…" Her answer died off in a strangled sob, and she buried her head in my dad's shoulder.

"Danny we just…We didn't know…" Dad whispered, curling a little around Mom. "Dear _God _we _didn't know!"_ With a startled sense of panic, I realized Dad was crying too, as he brushed the tears from his eyes. "We didn't know, Danny…didn't know…didn't know…" He shook his head steadily, before hanging it in misery.

"I know…T-that was my fault…" I swallowed hard, pushing myself through. "That was my fault. I didn't tell you…and I should have…I'm sorry…"

"No…" My mom whispered, her voice so choked and quiet I barely realized she had spoken. "Don't…P-please don't…Danny you did tell us…Y-you tried…on the tape, and I…I didn't l-listen…"

Guilt hit me hard in the stomach as I watched her crumble before me, but it was quickly overshadowed with a wave of confusion. I didn't know why I felt guilty, and I couldn't sort out the tumult of feelings that threatened to rip me apart from the inside. I wanted to leave. I wanted the world to go away. I wanted quiet so I could figure this out. Yet none of that was an option—I'd had enough time.

"You misunderstood…" I whispered, trying to keep my expression level, feeling the sadness creeping into my eyes along with the sense of wrongness—that _I_ was offering them comfort.

"I wouldn't have believed you anyway…"

The room froze for a moment, breath seemingly halted at the icy chill that set in with her admission. I could feel some of the blood drain from my face, some of the ice settle in my heart.

"Surely if you realized what he…you never would have…" Vlad's voice cut softly across the room, filled with a sense of quiet authority as he watched Mom crumble across the room. His hand seemed to twitch from his side, possessed with the sudden phantom urge to reach her, but he stayed rigid.

"No I…it shouldn't even be possible…what you four told me…" She raised her tear stained eyes, throwing them across the room. "A human ghost…I'd never…couldn't have…" a quiet sob wrenched past her lips. "My son…My _own_ son…All this time you…and I never…" Her gaze was suddenly locked on me, fresh tears spilling past her eyes. "Danny, I'm so sorry!"

I could feel my mouth hanging open slightly, brain trapped in indecision.

"…I-I know you are…" I whispered back.

_But it's not enough._

"Why'd you…Why'd you hide this for so long?" Dad picked his head up slightly, his lips barely moving with the questions. Still, despite the weakness in his voice, it still sounded like an accusation.

"What was I supposed to say?" My own voice was barely there, but I could feel a twinge of anger bubbling behind it. "What on _earth _was I supposed to tell you?"

"No, I…" Dad shook his head sadly, his eyes lost. "…I mean everything…that you…you were…"

"Oh…" I whispered quietly, throwing my gaze to the floor. "I guess I…I wanted to tell you at first…but I was…scared…" I hung my head a bit, fighting the burning ache that seared up in my chest. "I was afraid…you might not…a-accept it and I couldn't…didn't know how I'd handle that."

"Danny we'd…never…" His gaze was buried in Mom's hair, watching her quietly shaking figure cling to him. "You could have…could have _told _us…then we…we'd…"

_That's right. You _should _have told them. But you _didn't. _You're a _coward. _And this is your fault—all yours._

_(Shut up!)_

"Don't…Don't talk like this is just because of _me!" _My fists clenched painfully at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I argued more against the voice in my head than with my parents. "I wasn't…I-I wasn't the one who did this…who…who _chained _myself down there!"

Mom's head shot up like she'd been hit with an electric current, her face paling to sheer white as she looked straight at me, her mouth gaping, eyes wide. Dad didn't move, but his eyes stayed locked on me, the color draining from his face as well. They looked wrong. They looked hurt, but I couldn't help myself. Some bitter, festering feeling that had settled in my heart had wrenched itself to the surface, blurring all thought until I was screaming myself hoarse.

"I wasn't the one who knocked me out…who tied me up…who _cut me open!" _Tears were spilling past my cheeks, wet and heavy as I felt myself break down. It was too much. _Remembering _was too much. I wanted everything to go away, and the fire building inside me just wanted revenge. "Do you have any idea…w-what that's like? How…terrifying it is? How unbearably _painful _it is…? To the point you…that you just wish each new cut would be enough to finally kill you?..."

They flinched—_badly._ But despite myself, I couldn't stop. Not yet. Not now.

"And you can just _beg_…and _scream_…and cry, but still…t-they don't stop?..." I wiped furiously at the tears running down my cheeks, looking away, unable to watch at what this was doing to my parents. Still, I couldn't stop. I just couldn't stop. "Do you know…what it's like…t-to go through that and then just…just _come home _the next day like nothing happened?...C-come home _every day _like nothing happened! Can't you see…Can't you see how much that _destroyed _me?"

"Danny stop! PLEASE…Please just…just stop!"

I bit down on my tongue, eyes growing wide as I suddenly realized what I had said. Slowly my gaze trailed to Sam, her eyes still mad with worry from her outburst, her body shaking. I caught sight of two delicate streams of tears running down her mascara-stained face before she quickly wiped them away.

"Please don't…Don't say anything more…Don't keep saying that…" Sam's voice caught in her throat, and she was quickly silent again.

I sat frozen, watching her huddled shaking form, at a loss for what to do. Slowly though, my trembling pupils shifted to the couch across the room, horror filling my mind at what I might see. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't, my gaze trapped in the two sets of trembling eyes that stared back. Mom had both hands clasped over her mouth, her face ashen white, her whole body visibly trembling as she stared back, completely and utterly lost for words. Despite the quivering in his bulky arms, Dad was paralyzed, his cloudy, desperate, pained eyes locked on me, like they couldn't understand what they were seeing. For a moment, I saw past them, trying to see the sight that met them. A quick glance down confirmed my fear—I was bleeding, almost heavily, as crimson red seeped through the thin linen of the bandage, staining my whole chest. My whole body was trembling, weak and angry and in shock, stark white from the bloodless.

I slowly dropped my gaze to the floor, tracing the pattern on the rug with my eyes. I was a wreck, an utterly hopeless sight, and Mom and Dad were staring at me with the new knowledge that _they _were the ones responsible. Whether or not they meant to, _they _were the ones who did this to me, and deep down, I knew neither of them could handle that. I wanted to be ashamed for lashing out, for unloading all the anger I held, for giving into that savage desire for revenge that swelled in my heart. But even after a few calming breath, after almost an eternity in silence to sort out my thoughts, I couldn't find the horrible shame I so wanted to feel.

They were my parents, but I couldn't help myself.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't pretend I'd just forgiven them

_And even more, I had promised to stop with the lies. I couldn't bottle this forever—I couldn't let it destroy me any further._

"I have to, Sam…" I whispered, my voice soft, eyes still to the ground. "I promised no more lies…"

I took a quiet breath.

"…and this is the truth…"


	23. Confession PR

"What do you mean by that Danny?" Sam's eyes bore into mine, until slowly they drifted toward her arms, wrapped around her body like a protective shield. "…What exactly do you want to say…?"

"I…I promised no more lies…" _No more lies…_ It was a mantra. It was all I had to go on. It was the only thing leading me forward. "I'm not helping anyone by staying silent and…and I shouldn't…"

_No._

My head started shaking, my eyes shutting as I felt the breath die in my throat. "…No. Actually, I'm not helping _myself _by keeping this bottled up…I'm…_damn it _I'm just tired of destroying _myself _with this…I need to talk…"

I raised my eyes slowly, just daring to meet my parents' gaze, hoping I could actually do this…_praying _I was strong enough now. The first look into their eyes though shattered my resolve. My heart seemed to hit the floor, all the conviction draining from me as their tortured gazes bore into me from across the room. _Is that what I looked like…when they were-?_

"Damn it…" I breathed, connecting my fist with the couch's armrest. "…_Damn it…_"

_I can't…_

Mutinous tears welled behind my eyes, my nails digging into the couch as I curled in on myself. _I'm stronger than this…I'm stronger…_

"Danny…" Jazz's whisper was so soft, so hurt, that I could almost feel the pain of it grating against my heart. I raised my eyes, meeting the cowering fear that trembled in her pupils. A tiny flicker of surprise shot through her eyes, and her gaze seemed to back off slightly. I could almost feel the lost torture that must have shown on my face to make her drop her gaze to the floor. "Mr. Masters says you knew about it—the ro—" Her voice caught in her throat, and she fell silent for a moment before continuing. "…the rotting…and that it would kill you. So why'd you-? Why couldn't you tell us?...Why?"

_Why?_

"Because…because I…" Her gaze slowly met mine, eyes pulled from the floor, the look seeming to cut through me like a razor blade. The anguish and hurt burned into my mind until I had to turn away, her image still glowing through my shut eyes. Shame started to cut through me, as I realized how much she was actually hurting from this.

No…It was wrong. I was protecting them from the truth, wasn't I? I was trying to _save _them that kind of pain.

"It was just easier that way…" I squeezed my lids shut tightly, stars dancing across my vision as I tried to wipe away that look. "God I'm sorry. But if I didn't tell you, I could pretend…it didn't exist…" I swallowed hard, struggling with the tightness in my chest, the twisting wrongness in my stomach. "And I didn't have to worry you then." Something wasn't right about that answer…Something was just…_missing._

_It meant…something else to me. _And slowly, I could feel the blood in my veins run cold as the answer hit me, what more it meant. _An end._

"I still don't get it." Jazz wiped at the tears welling in her eyes, smudging her palm with traces of mascara. "You could have _died, _Danny! Then what would we have done? I keep—just keep going over it in my head—over and over. God Danny if you had _died _I wouldn't…couldn't have…" She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, gaze not even meeting mine anymore as she whispered, more to herself than anyone, "_I would never have been able to handle it."_

I twisted my arms around my body, careful to let them linger a few inches over the bandaged flesh as I curled in on myself. "I'm so sorry." I whispered. "I promise I never _wanted _to die. I never wanted to do that to any of you. But that possibility. It could have meant an end to this. It was out of my control. It wouldn't be my fault then."

"Danny…" The hurt in her voice ripped straight through me, the barely whispered word cracking as her voice gave out.

"I'm sorry. Really. But that's why I _can't _just stay silent now. I can't bottle it up now when that…when that nearly killed me."

Sam silently moved from her seat, walking listlessly across the room until stopping at my side, freeing one of my hands as she wrapped it in her palm. "Okay," she whispered, the hurt in her eyes mirroring Jazz's despite her attempts to hide it from her pale face. "I get it. We're here to listen then" She twisted her hand in mine. "We always were, you know."

She squeezed tighter, bringing back some of the strength to my body as I fought to go on.

"? You can't understand the feeling…I mean i-it was just like a terrible dream every single day and no matter how hard I tried I just couldn't wake up from it." I took a shaking breath, keeping my eyes to the ground. "And the whole time I forced myself to act like…like none of it even _existed. _Like I knew this horrifying secret that couldn't be real, that no one else could feel…or see…to the point that I almost felt crazy…The world didn't care…They didn't know…So I just kept as much of it buried inside as I could, because it wasn't supposed to be _real._…And the more I tried to think it wasn't real—that it couldn't be true—the worse that feeling got." Cautiously I raised my eyes, trying to distance myself as I met my parents' gazes again, raising my free arm to point at them. "And in the middle of that one of you would ask, 'What's wrong?' and I'd say 'Nothing. I'm tired.' and try to smile and you'd smile back and it just…just felt so wrong."

Slowly, my gaze fell to my lap, my arm giving out and crumbling to my side. I took another wavering breath, wincing slightly at the sharp pain that cut through my chest with the movement. Through it all, I could feel myself fading again, praying to give out to the unreal stupor I'd drowned myself in for so long. Part of me wanted to fight, to resist, terrified of succumbing to that almost permanent state of numbness, but that feeling got weaker, quieter, as the rest of my body started giving out.

"_Please…You…You can keep talking…Keep talking we need to…know…"_

That voice. _His _voice. Dad's voice. It cut straight through to my core, still sending involuntary shivers down my spine. _No, fight it. Fight it damn it…_

"Really Danny…we need to know…Maddie and I w-want…to know what we did. After we…I mean we…Y-you can't go easy on us—not if we—_not since we…" _His voice died out, strangled in the first sob I saw shake his body. The autopilot stupor he'd fallen into was shattered, reality forced on him as his shoulders jerked in miserable sobs. "_We have to know…"_

"Okay…" I breathed, erasing the last remnants of the haze from my mind. "Okay…"

_Remember. Focus. Just…try to talk…try to say anything you can._

"I've been _like this _for a while now. I wanted to tell you at first. I wanted to tell you what I really was, but I could never get your attention without a…a w-weapon nearby. After a while, I gave up on it." I dug into the couch cushion with my free hand, fighting the searing pain that shot across my chest with each breath, the morphine losing its edge. Sam tugged on my arm slightly as she started to speak, and I bit back the whimper rising in my throat at the shooting pain.

"Danny, we told them what we could while you were…unconscious. They know why you're like this…what you've been doing."

"Okay…" I whispered back, not bothering to face her. "Just do you understand that I wasn't the bad guy? I tried to do good…help people and I just…never wanted you to…_hate me._ Or to be _angry _with me I lied to you or that put myself in danger or that I was…a freak." I shut my eyes, a quiet moan breaking past my lips as the cut across my chest flared up again. Pain threatened to cleave me in two as I doubled over, my hand instinctively yanked from Sam's grasp and wrapped around my body.

"I just wanted you guys to still love me. I wanted nothing to change. I was stupid and I was wrong to be on top of Fentonworks but I…Damn it I was just so tired and I…never thought you'd…" _Keep going. You can't stop now. _"I don't even remember…much until I woke up…i-in the lab. I just…couldn't understand why…"

Vlad shifted slightly in his seat, his face unsettled as I remembered he had seen the tape, witnessed everything. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz just listened, their eyes trained on me with silent, unknowing sympathy. Mom and Dad simply looked in my direction, their eyes ghostly, but clearly catching each word, made evident by the terrified spark that burned behind their glazed eyes. Mom kept her cheek buried in his side, seemingly too scared to let him go.

"And then…you two were there…a-and I couldn't change back…tried to talk until the Scrambler…until Dad used the scrambler and I just…couldn't breathe. No matter how hard I tried I-I just couldn't…I was…_terrified." _

Sickening comprehension dawned on my parents' faces, Mom's mouth falling open slightly as her eyes widened. I looked back and forth between the two, my concentration lost as they looked on with a new kind of pain in their gazes.

"You were…s-suffocating? Because of t-the…" Mom's lips moved, but her voice was caught in her throat, breaking through with a tortured whisper.

"Yeah…" I whispered, dropping my gaze to the floor.

_Maybe I should stop…I s-should stop. They can't hear this._

"A-and then you were cutting away the suit…and the scalpel and I tried…God I tried t-to tell you." My hands started shaking, tears spilling down my cheeks as I raised my tortured gaze from the floor, staring them down with desperation in my eyes. "_Why! _E-even if I _couldn't _tell you, _why _didn't you _stop? _I just remember _screaming, _and _begging, _a-and you still didn't…didn't hesitate and just kept r—" My breath caught in my throat. "r-ripping me apart from the inside…Y-you can't imagine the kind of pain and t-terror and I just kept asking m-myself…_w-why? Why wasn't it enough?"_

They both looked sick, a dead cry rising in my mom's throat as she just listened, looking more and more like a kicked puppy with each passing second.

"Danny, we didn't…" Dad put a tentative hand out, his voice shaky and weak. I shut my eyes though, shaking my head, fighting against the images creeping into my mind.

"Yeah…you didn't know. I know, you didn't _know. _It doesn't matter now. It doesn't change anything…" My thoughts started falling apart, my mind drowned in the remembered pain of the dissection, flooded with the images I tried so hard to keep buried in my heart.

_The lights. The restraints. The scalpel._

"Doesn't matter anyway…I was already dead…That's why you did it…right?"

_The pain. The gag. The saw._

"A-and the saw…felt s-so _wrong _and I could feel it…snapping and r-ripping out what shouldn't…should never be touched…"

The silence in the room felt off, far heavier than it had been seconds ago, but I couldn't stop. Even if I wanted I just…couldn't.

"Then Tucker came…and Sam and Jazz and i-it was over, but it never…never _felt _over. And before I knew it I was _back here _and it was _real _again but I just pretended. I just _sat there _every day and pretended nothing was wrong and I couldn't…couldn't do it."

My breathing came more shallow, the stitching pulling taught in my chest, sparking a wave of searing pain with each breath.

"It was like a _game…_Everyday was some sick, twisted game. " I took one steadying breath, shutting my eyes against the tearing agony. "…and I sure as hell couldn't win…"


	24. The Story PR

_It's late. *Yawn* I'm really sorry for how long the gap was between chapters...So uh, sorry._

Mom's head shook slowly, her mouth opening like she was fighting for the courage to speak. "This isn't getting us anywhere…" she whispered. "I shouldn't have the right to ask this of you, but please, we need to know the whole story. We just have to understand what really happened…"

I glanced to Dad, watching his eyes fall to the floor. His feet shuffled a bit and he mumbled, far too quietly for me to hear, but it was more than likely he was agreeing.

The whole story, huh? To date I've only told it once—to Sam and Tucker that first night. Jazz must have heard most of it from those two. Vlad had his god-damned video surveillance. Lancer only knew that my parents ripped me open alive. A rush of satisfaction tingled through my body, realizing just how little Lancer pushed me after that. In both classes I was allowed to just slip out of consciousness in the back of the room, shut down until the period was over, and somehow I maintained a passing grade in both. I could tell he was still looking for the right time to get answers from me, but he probably thought he had plenty of time to ease me into that.

Wrong.

I half considered getting Lancer on the phone and bringing him over, but I thought better of it. He didn't need to know every detail. Nothing that happened really concerned him. He didn't need to know every gruesome moment.

"Alright then." I nodded slightly, just short of making eye contact. "Alright. But I need to say first. You didn't really answer before. You do get it, right? I-I wasn't bad. I was never bad. I was framed for robbery, for kidnapping even, but I was always…_always _the good guy." I wanted to look up at their faces, but my gaze stayed locked on the ground. "Every time I went ghost, I only did it to protect the people I love. I did it so no one else had to get hurt. I wasn't bad. I was never bad. Do you get that?"

I finally looked into Mom's face. Her head bobbed up and down, almost childishly, like she was desperate to convey how much she agreed. "We get it. Of course we get it. We were dumb and blind and full of ourselves but…Sam and Tucker explained. They explained what you were doing, why you were doing it. Jack and I were after the glory and the fun, but you weren't. We should…be ashamed to call ourselves ghost hunters."

Slowly, Dad started to mirror her head bob. His jaw line bounced up and down in a desperately childish fashion.

"And you don't hate me?"

Mom's head froze.

"Of course not."

Despite myself, I felt a few mutinous tears of happiness sting my eyes. One thing off my chest. That was at least one thing.

"Alright then…" I breathed, shutting my eyes and thinking back. "It was cold, and late, when I came back. I can't remember who or what I was fighting. I don't think it had a name. I jst know I wasted hours chasing it, and when I finally got home I was just…exhausted, and I just wanted to get back to my room and sleep. I didn't though. I stopped before phasing through the Op center. It was my mistake. I knew I was in ghost form. I knew I was probably in plain sight of everyone, but I was tired, and not thinking, and nothing bad had ever happened before…"

I trailed off, long enough for Mom to risk speaking. "So then why were you there? Why were you on the Op Center?"

A nervous laugh broke past my lips, my head shaking slightly. "…I wanted to watch the sunset…"

Her face fell, and her eyes dropped to the carpet.

"I don't know how long I was up there. Not long I think. It was silent and peaceful until something, something shifted behind me. Before I could think or speak or do anything, it just…I didn't know what it did, but something hit me, and every muscle in my body seized up, and then I just couldn't move…And I was out before I knew what was happening."

They didn't want to hear this. Despite what Mom said, she wouldn't want to hear it.

"Then I woke up, and tried to move, but I just couldn't. That's not—that wasn't _new._ Between Spectra and Skulker and Vl—" I caught myself quickly, possibly betraying my ex arch enemy with a quick glance in his direction. "…um, Walker—and Walker—I probably can't count the times I've woken up restrained like that. But there was always some way out of it. One way or another. But something felt different this time. I woke up powerless—n-not just powerless: this was different. I didn't know who'd captured me. Or why. It scared me." My voice shrank, and I traced the weave of my shoelaces with my eyes. "I tried not to think about that though. I just wanted to focus on getting out. I was just fighting to free myself or phase or anything and that's when—when I saw you." My voice lost its power, and almost silently, I forced myself on. "…And then Dad pushed the button in his hand."

I glanced to Dad, his eyes distant, dull, and not meeting mine. A second or two passed before he realized what I meant, comprehension dawning on his face. His eyes grew wide and hurt, clearly realizing what I meant. The Fentonscrambler. The thing that was supposed to rip me apart molecule by molecule. The thing that was meant to murder me on spot.

"I couldn't scream. It was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It felt like it was ripping up everything inside me until it—it just stopped. It left this residual, burning ache and I just…I could hardly breathe." I cleared my throat. I didn't want to go this far, not with what happened next. "And Dad asked if I…liked it. He sounded so happy. I just knew…it couldn't really be happening. None of that could really be happening." I shook my head, debating how much detail I should give. Do I explain every ounce of terror and pain they made me suffer? Surely they couldn't handle that. But if not, we'd just be keeping secrets from each other, again. No more lies.

"I asked why I was there. And Mom, you said you wanted to experiment. And Dad said I was different, and that science would benefit from…from taking me apart. And at that point still—none of it could have been real. It was just a dream or a nightmare or some terrible joke…Something though, something made it click. Suddenly I got it.—Suddenly I got what was happening. That's when I tried to tell you. I didn't though. I couldn't. I panicked. All I could think of was how desperate I was to get away, and before I could think how, Dad pushed the button…and it zapped me again." I looked down at my fingers, curling and uncurling them. Faintly I caught the dimly blooming bloodstain on my shirt, and for a moment I wondered how soon they'd need to look at it.

"By then…that second zap—I couldn't breathe anymore. It froze everything inside me and I can't…I can't even explain what it did to my mind. I thought maybe…I'd just die right there. No way out. Then just when I thought I was done, I got control of myself again. For just a second I felt deliriously happy, that I wasn't going to drown right there on the table until…Until Mom started to tear away my suit." I risked a glance in their direction, and the tormented looks on their face made me wish I hadn't. But the looks were tainted with a horrible, torturous desire to keep listening. Like I was telling a ghost story. They needed to know the end of before they could go to sleep. "I fought, and I struggled, until I felt the edge of the scalpel slice into my skin. I was still trapped. Still paralyzed. I couldn't even scream." I grabbed absently at my chest, careful to just rest my hand on the surface. It was instinct. I wanted to protect it. But I knew I could barely touch it.

"And the incision—three incisions, they went across my entire chest. I couldn't scream. Then you two started talking about the blood in my ectoplasm. You wanted a sample. I was certain any second I would pass out. I still thought I could escape though." I could feel my throat tighten at the thought. If only I could have escaped. Somehow. If I had done just one thing differently, then maybe… "I forced myself to focus and think of someway…but it—that thought didn't last long. I couldn't focus once you started-" My voice caught in my throat. "…to tear it back." My stomach dropped. It was a horrible memory. A worse sensation. Having your whole chest peeled away. Sliced away. It hurt so desperately now.

"You started tearing, and cutting, and ripping away when still I couldn't even…I couldn't even scream. I was locked inside myself. Until slowly, finally, I could feel just the slightest bit of control seep back into my body. I wanted to fight my way out or break free, but given the options, all I could think to do was scream. You said something about the neighbors—I could barely hear, barely over myself.. I just knew that Dad moved. He grabbed something, and suddenly I was gagged, and screaming into the cloth, and it just went on. Nothing could have been worth that."

It was wrong. Saying this, explaining it, to my parents just felt so wrong. They were there. They know what happened. They didn't need me telling them.

"I should stop…" I whispered, almost too quietly for my own ears.

"What? Just give up now?" Vlad's voice came as a shock. I had almost forgotten he was sitting in, until I raised my gaze to his cold, tired eyes. He alone seemed to keep his composure, stoic in the room of mental wrecks. "Haven't you made it through the worst of it by now?"

"No…" I whispered back, my head shaking. "Actually no. The worst came after. The saw. Dad brought out the saw, and I can't explain how it—how it destroys whatever sanity you have at that point. The teeth just tear into the flesh and the bone and rip chunks of your body away. The bone. It snapped bone." I pawed childishly at my ribcage, morbid curiosity poking through my mind as to whether or not my bones were still missing. Now wasn't the time to ask. "It went like that for…_hours. _At some point, however long it was, I just saw Tucker standing at the steps. I thought I might have been crazy, or dreaming. He was actually there. It was so late. I shouldn't have expected rescue. "

"But you're you." Tucker whispered meekly. "Anyone else who wouldn't answer their phone might just be sleeping. You're a different case. If I can't reach you, it usually means something's wrong…" He trailed off, surprised to see I was motioning him on. "I couldn't get to you. Your cell or your computer or anything. Jazz didn't know where you were or what happened and neither did Sam. It just felt wrong. When I came over I didn't expect you to be…never thought you'd be there."

"You expected to find me gone, right?"

"Yeah," he answered quietly. "I thought I just needed access to the portal if something really was wrong. I was betting on worst case scenario, but I—I just thought that meant captured in the ghost zone." His meek voice grew meeker. "I came prepared, booomering and everything. When I made it to the steps, and I saw you _there. _Just ripped open and screaming and bloody, I couldn't-" He glanced quickly at my parents, but instead fixed his gaze on the carpet. "I couldn't process it—what I was seeing. You were bound down there and gagged and _bloody. _After a second I got it. I got what happened. I could only think of how to get you out."

"You did though."

"I did," he agreed weakly, his head bobbing. "The phone call was—it was the best I could think of. It worked. I got you out. But really I was just…terrified."

I nodded to him, taking back the story. "Tucker undid the restraints. I was free. I was able to change back. And it was just such sweet relief, I could hardly believe it." The tiniest hint of a smile played at my face, but it dropped after just a split second. "And everything just got worse from there."


	25. A Bouquet of Flowers PR

"I've been through hell with some of the ghosts I've fought. They're not too gentle, you know? But whenever I had to fight them, whenever the fight ended, it _ended. _That was the last of it. I'd never have to look back if I didn't want to. I always thought I was kind of strong…being able to do that." I twisted my fingers together. It was becoming a bit of a nervous tick. _Strong? Yeah right._ "This time was different. I needed to come back home, back _here, _after everything that happened and act like nothing had. That kind of strength, the kind I needed to do that, I just didn't have…"

Silence. Why had it gotten so silent now? I was tired. I was fading. But the silence didn't let me stop. Something about it pushed me on.

"The mind games. The aftermath. The nightmares. It was anything but over. It had gotten bigger, worse, from that day on, because I didn't know how to deal with everything. I never had _that _kind of strength. Instead I just curled in on myself, convinced myself that I was all that mattered. I tried shutting everyone out. Evading rather than facing. And I tried shoving ghost fighting as far out of my mind as possible. I was hurting people. I get that. But even now…I don't know what I could have done differently." I glanced down at my fingers and steadily unwound them. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize…" Tucker whispered. "We got that from day one. It was a lot. No one could have handled it."

"Tucker and Sam did try to help. Jazz too." I glanced at my parents for just a moment, but still I could barely look at either of them. "But there was really only so much they could do without me. I didn't even try to help. I just sat back and watched them get hurt. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't think about anyone other than myself at the time. It made me angry that I was shoving off all my responsibilities, but I just let the feeling fester. Never did anything to change it."

"You know you couldn't have." Sam inched a bit closer to me. "Besides, Mr. Masters offered his help not too long after…It really saved us" The bitterness was almost absent from Sam's tone, but still she didn't bother facing him when she spoke. Her attitude seemed much lighter now, possibly since he saved my life.

The thought still stung a bit.

"Vladdie…how long have you known?" Dad's voice barely carried across the room. Still weak. Still immensely hurt.

"Pre-existing circumstances led me to discover your son's double identity. When Phantom disappeared from Amity Park, I made the connection to Daniel and got the information from him."

I had to hand it to Vlad, the guy was good at dodging questions.

"And you helped him after that?"

Vlad shifted a bit, almost uncomfortably. "…Yes."

"Thank you…" The sounds barely made it to my side of the room. "Thanks for looking out for him when I didn't. You're a good friend."

Now wasn't the time to laugh at the irony.

"After Vlad took over it lifted a lot of the burden off our shoulders." Tucker shrugged, like he was brushing off the comment. "He kind of got things under control."

A stab of guilt hit me in the chest. Under control. After I practically begged him over the phone. That was after Johnny's shadow demolished their house. After the irreversible damage had already happened.

"Mom, Dad, the police asked you for help with the death of the little girl and her family a few weeks ago, right?" I could practically feel Tucker and Sam stiffen in their seats. "I know the ghost destroyed the house and killed them, but the son survived, right? What happened to him?"

They skipped a beat, and the silence was able to drown me for just a moment.

"He's in foster care I think. There's an aunt a couple states over who's trying to submit the paperwork to adopt him. He might be living with her by now." Mom's voice was still strained, but a tentative carefulness had crept into her tone.

"That's good then…" I trained my eyes on my feet, shuffling them a little bit. I could still feel the rest of the room staring at me, everyone's eyes digging into me. God I hated it.

"Danny, you don't blame yourself for that, do you?" The carefulness had been replaced with clear worry, only adding to the torture in her voice.

"Well that ghost, I…I mean it…" I could feel the desperation seeping into my voice. "I've fought that ghost before. A bunch of times. I can defeat it easily. If I'd been there maybe they wouldn't have…"

I was cut off mid-sentence, eyes still on my feet, by two slight blue arms wrapping around my body. My head shot up in shock. They were wrapped gently around my shoulders, careful to avoid my cut up chest. I felt frozen, my eyes wide, brain reeling, but with a second to think, to really feel the warmth and softness against my body, I gave into it. Ever so slightly I leaned my weight against her, hot tears pricking behind my eyelids.

"No, it's not your fault. You've been so strong…and so selfless…" Her body was shaking, her voice trembling. "I can't watch you blame yourself for this. This—everything—is my fault. I caused all this. I can't imagine how strong you've been through all of it, but it's…it's unimaginable. I'm just so _sorry."_

Slowly, tentatively, I wrapped one arm around her back, leaning closer into her hazmat suit. _So this is what it felt like. This is what I was missing. _I raised the second arm and snaked it around her back, feeling her body shake with uncontrolled sobs. _I missed this. I missed being close to her. She's Mom. And I missed her._

I nearly missed it when Dad pushed himself off the couch as well. His movements were cautious, still like the lost little puppy I found when I came home, but slowly he made his way across the room, bending down beside Mom. He rested one bulky hand on my shoulder, and even with the tiny amount of contact I could feel how much his body was trembling.

"Please, we never meant it…" His voice was still small, but he whispered so close to my ear that his words came out clear. "We still love you. We always loved you. We caused all this, and you're suffering for our choices. Someday…" The desperation in his voice nearly broke something inside me. "Someday can you forgive us?"

I unwove my left hand from Mom's waist, turning the palm toward me and placing it on Dad's hand. His fingers still trembled, resting lightly on my shoulder. _Could I have their love back? Could I have my life back? Could I look back on this someday and just forget, just let it go?_

"Yeah…" I whispered. "I think I can do that…"

….

_**Epilogue**_

It's been three weeks since they found out. I was bedridden until yesterday, and the muscles in my legs could hardly support themselves when I tried to stand. I'm getting better at it though. It's painful, definitely, but I'm trying to get as much use of my freedom as I can before my surgery tomorrow. The doctors need to replace the missing ribs with metal substitutes. I at least won't be at risk of puncturing my heart on table ledges after that. Well I was never really at risk of that beforehand, you know, bedridden and all. I don't really care for the doctors. It hate that they're constantly hanging over me like vultures; it just gives you the sense you're going to drop dead any minute when they refuse to leave you alone at any point of the day. I hate it more that I'm stuck in some secret personalized hospital Vlad had built for himself. The green and gold décor makes your eyes burn after about the second day.

The alternative would have been the lab, which—yeah, just no thanks…

Mom sent a note to the school saying we're dealing with a family emergency, so I've been told. She might have upped it to mono after about the two week mark of me being gone from school. At least that way Jazz was able to return to her classes. She told me she didn't mind missing, but you don't have to know my sister as long as I have to realize that's a lie.

The weirdest part is probably dealing with "Nurse Vlad" on frequent occasion, mainly because the doctors only take orders from him. I still can't decide if it's funny or unnerving seeing him show up in hospital booties and sanitary gloves. I'm leaning more toward the creepy side.

Sam and Tucker practically live here. I can tell the doctors don't like them, which I kind of consider a personal victory, since I really don't like the doctors. I try to tell them they can go home and actually have lives, but Tucker tells me he has nothing better to do and Sam gleefully reminds me she hates her family. I don't think that's quite true, but I won't argue against their company. Trust me, there are plenty more multi-player card games than single, and there is very little else I'm authorized to do here. Once I graduate I'm moving to Vegas, I've decided. It's amazing how much three weeks of nonstop poker can really improve your skill. Sam tries to remind me I should at least be trying to catch up on the school work I've been missing, but I assure her Jazz's daily tutoring sessions are at least equal to a full day of school, if not more. I've actually been trying a little harder with my English work.

Kind of speaking of which, I got a phone call the third day of my stay here, a private number to my cell phone I had to be authorized to answer. Mr. Lancer sounded almost surprised on the other end when I picked up. He started fumbling over himself, starting with how unacceptable it was for a teacher to be contacting a student using their cell phone, but he got to the point eventually. After my third day of absence he was getting worried that something happened with my parents. Apparently he found my cell phone through emergency contacts the school keeps for the students. He seemed relieved when I explained I was okay, and what happened. He said he was glad to know I was doing better.

Mom and Dad come in a lot. Almost as much as Sam and Tucker, but they keep their distance when my friends are over. It's still hard to be in the same room with them, especially alone (save for the damn surveillance doctors) but they're trying. They're definitely trying. I am too. I don't know if things will ever be the same—I doubt it. But if I work off the knowledge they still love me, if I remind myself every chance I get that they regret everything they did, it's easier to try to forgive. There's still some dark part of me deep inside that wants to see retribution for what they did, but that voice gets quieter every day. I think it's been replaced with poker strategies in all honesty. Hopefully someday it'll just be gone.

As reports from Sam and Tucker go, Dash is still scared shitless at the sound of my name. Tucker's invented a game of passing by Dash's gang and loudly musing, "I think Danny's coming back in a day or so," and silently cracking up at the reactions. Dash's is always the best, he says. Paulina puts on a show for him, but Tucker says that's only because they're dating now. Sam says it won't last three days. Either way, he's clearly shared stories with the football players, but the rumors haven't spread any farther. No one's inclined to believe the guy who got a D on his recitation of the alphabet (apparently a spontaneous assignment Lancer gave him when he caught Dash whispering about me in class. I have to remember to thank him for that one.) The jumpy, neurotic state he's in nowadays seems to have taken away all his street cred. Tucker thinks I could just look at him in the hallway and he'd be too scared to ever speak my name again. On the flipside of that, there are rumors going around that I was able to best Dash, like beat him up or something. That should be fun, at least for a little while, once I get back to class. In all honesty I just want to see his face. Just once. Even Sam finds it a little funny.

I've been given a bit of free roaming privileges for the day, so long as I'm not caught outside the building. I've assured the doctors, as I swear on my life, Danny Fenton will not be caught outside this hospital. Good, they usually say, you're not allowed out anyway. It seems they don't pick up on the loophole of my statement. I tried it yesterday, for the first time in three weeks, I went ghost. I didn't know what to expect, possibly the horrible, searing pain that's accompanied each transformation to date, but logic went against that. My two halves were fused now. The unbearable pain of the first two weeks in this hospital was the pain from my ghost half, and it was slowly subsiding. I transformed right there. Suddenly lighter than air. A familiar chill running through my body. It felt good. No, actually it felt _great. _I think I broke into a fit of mad chuckling until the new doctor came in on her watch and I transformed back before she saw. That was the only alone time I had, the gap of time between the doctors' shifts.

I asked Sam to bring me a bouquet of flowers yesterday. She asked what for, and I said nothing. They've been hidden under my bed since. I wait in bed now, fiddling with a deck of cards in my hands, until the doctor on watch rises from her seat, stretches a bit, and walks out of the room. They don't even make for good conversation. I probably have thirty seconds at best, so I transform, phase a hand through the bed and grab the flowers, and, careful not to strain my chest, I rise up into the air. I phase through the roof and like that, I'm gone.

Flying! Oh God I almost forgot the feeling. It's so freeing I almost lose myself in the sky. _Flips and turns. Fly faster. Break the sound barrier. God that sounds nice right now_. But I catch myself before I act on the thought. I'm still injured, _badly _injured, and I can't screw up the one opportunity I have to do this.

I pass over rooftops and streets, and I wonder for a moment if anyone sees me. It's been nearly two months now since Phantom disappeared. Does anyone see me in the air now, suddenly back after two months of absence, with a bouquet of flowers in my hands of all things? I go invisible just to be safe,

I find my destination quickly, and I settle into the budding grass just growing from the ground. I twist the flower stems in my hand for a moment, then cautiously, I set them down in front of the head stone.

"Hey," I say to the grave, but it doesn't answer back. I would hope not; I'm not in ghost fighting condition yet. "I figure I ought to come by sooner or later to pay respects."

The tombstone stares back silently, its engraved lettering catching in the noontime sun. _Rachel Kleinbard. _Her birthday was January 10th, her deathdate mirrored it. January 10th. I do the math between the years, just four years old. The images play through her mind. The little girl sticking four, chubby, frosting covered fingers to the camera. A smile stretching wide across her face. _I'm…FOUR now!_

Her parents' headstones flank hers on either side, and I pull a rose for each from the bundle and dropped it on their graves. _Melanie and Jonathan Klienbard. _29 and 36 respectively.

"I'm sorry this happened…" I whisper to all three graves. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to prevent it." I glance around, but the graveyard is empty. "I looked into it. Your son, Tommy, he's with his aunt now, if that makes you happy to hear." I'm still met with no response. I don't know why I keep pausing like I'm expecting one. "I'm sorry you were the victims of this. I'm sorry I couldn't be stronger for everyone. None of this should have happened." I feel a few loose tears poking at my eyes, and I brush them away. "I'm getting better now. Stronger. I'll be back soon hopefully. And I promise to you, to the three of you and Tommy, I won't ever let this happen again." The wind picks up, and the wrapping paper holding the bouquet together rustles with the breeze.

"I promise." 

…

_(A/N: So yeah, that's the end. I guess I'll just say I had a lot of fun writing it. All the reviewers have been great encouragement and inspiration, so thanks to each and everyone of you. This story revived a passion for writing I forgot I had. Thank you all )_

_(__**Edit:**__ Okay, so I decided to go reading through all my reviews start to end as kind of a celebration thingy and—holy crap! I forgot how freaking kind you people are! I'm not three pages through and I remember entire weeks I spent last year just floating around in a giddy haze because I've never been complimented so much in all my life. It's just such a fabulous feeling reading through all your kind words—like seriously no words. I honestly didn't think I could ever write anything before I started writing this. It was freshman year of high school and I had more important things to do than write. I never thought I was that good. But thanks to this story and to all of you people I've picked it up with a passion. Really, I know I went on a bit of a hiatus with this story, but I'm back at full throttle. It picked me up through some darker times. The happiness this story, and all of you, have brought me is indescribable. So thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, you make a little girl happy. :D)_


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